Love Spell
by vivaciousRingo
Summary: Ichigo could accept he wasn't ordinary, world wasn't what it appeared to be, and that demons existed. It was harder to accept, how knowing Urahara all his life he still fell into the psycho's trap. AU. demon!Grimmjow/shaman!Shirosaki/shaman!Ichigo. Yaoi.
1. Obliviousness

**Title:** Love Spell

**Summary:** Ichigo could accept he wasn't ordinary, world wasn't what it appeared to be, and that demons existed. It was harder to accept, how knowing Urahara all his life he still fell into the psycho's trap. AU. demon!Grimmjow/shaman!Shirosaki/shaman!Ichigo. Yaoi.

**Warnings:** Man smut, language, Urahara conducting an experiment, slight Hime-bashing, not betaed. And _—_ _No bum will be left unexplored in the duration of this fic so be aware of the mindfuck of different positions you're going to come across~!*inserts mad-scientist laughter*_

**Rating:** M.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own these characters nor am I making any money writing this story.

**Pairing:** Grimmjow/Shirosaki/Ichigo _—_ IchiGrimmIchi & IchiShiroIchi & GrimmShiroGrimm.

**Dedication:** _For _**CrystalMoon23**._ Because I abso—freaking—lutely adore your writing and want to keep my promise~. I really hope you'll enjoy reading this, hon! :D_

**Chapter 1. Obliviousness. **

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><p>…<p>

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><p>"Yo <em>Vixen<em>. Ain't ya a cute one? 'M _pleased_. Since _I'm_ the one being summoned here, ya must've read the sixth incantation from the book. Mommy didn't teach ya you shouldn't play with forbidden spells, _human_? _Heh._ Well, no matter—it's too damn late fer you to go back. I'm _Sexta_, an _Espada_ kind. One of the most powerful of _Demons_ from the Abyss. _Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez _at yer service. Let's get along my …_eternal mate_, _ey_?" The voice like velvet sin literally purred the words, just short of a lover's whisper spiced with a dose of arsenic, "Ya better not be lousy fuck, _bitch_, or I'll enjoy fuckin' breaking you." The ice-cold blue Abyssinian eyes laughed at him; a mix of unhidden contempt, anticipation and animalistic craving.

_Oh boy. This is gonna be a long day, _Ichigo dimly thought.

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><p>…<p>

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><p>Ichigo glared vehemently at the leathered-bound pages laying on the floor in his room which only seconds ago were in his grasp. He should have fucking known something disastrous would happen the moment he steeped foot into that freakishly eerie <em>Urahara Shōten<em>. Even his inner voice of reason—he fancied calling _Zangetsu_—gave warning signs of distress that day while flooding Ichigo's mind with feelings of unease and agitation. He felt something was about to happen that he would _not_ like. It was a clear sign for Ichigo_ to_ _turn the fuck around and run for his heels, never looking back_.

He relied on him unconditionally—_Zangetsu _the more perceptive part that was his subconsciousness saved his ass on regular basis since he was just a brat, meaning _more times he could manage to count at the moment_. And _mind_, he always—_always_ _dammit_—followed his extremely sharp instincts. Especially, when the bad vibes he got were so goddamn touchable he could feel skin crawling on his back in a sense of dreading premonition.

So why,_ ironically_, he did the opposite?

You're probably wondering and marveling at his momentary apparent lack of common sense he displayed. _Hell_—he was asking the very question himself for over half an hour now, pacing anxiously around the room and still didn't even come _close_ to reaching an answer.

It was like hearing a whisper of darkness. Like an irresistible pull of the Earth's gravitation, or siren's call. He became lost in a torrent of emotions that went through his body after he laid his hand on _The Book_.

It was _all_ Urahara's fucking fault.

He gave it to the orangette as a gift on his 21st birthday and soon to be graduation ceremony at the Shinō Academy where humans with shaman's lineage studied. He thought he'd learned _not_ to accept any suspicious gifts from the eccentric shopkeeper after one accident with a faulty mod soul candy which _possessed_ Ichigo rather than acting as it should as a suppressor of his wild _reiatsu_. But the moment Ichigo laid eyes on _The Book_ he knew he had to have it. He didn't understand the impulse, but his instincts told him it was a very, _very_ valuable gift. At first glance he could tell the leathered bound pages were unique and surely fucking _priceless_—which meant dangerous, probably risky obtained, forbidden and …_tempting._

How in bloody hell Urahara obtained it he didn't know. And no, he didn't _want_ to know. Some things are better left unsolved. But Ichigo was a first rate hypocrite, because despite not wanting to know about shady dealings of his family's old friend; he craved power, knowledge and new techniques. And no matter the source.

Not for selfish reasons, though. Far from it. But nonetheless, the promise of learning something sealed, long forgotten, _banned_ was making his blood run faster through his veins. His palms were sweating profoundly at the mere _thought_ of simply touching _The Book_.

And to Ichigo the enticing appeal of something alluring but potentially dangerous was like a shot of ecstasy. And even though he saw the not quite sane look of smug satisfaction on Urahara's face, Ichigo stopped giving a fuck about rationality in .3 milliseconds after laying his hand on the heavy and old tome.

_That_ was a moment the time stopped for him entirely and he realized, with a saner part of his mind, that he succumbed to the evil charm of something unearthly and deceitful. But there was another part of his being—an evil and darker one, that secretly rejoiced at the connection Ichigo made with the artifact.

He lightly traced the patterns over the leather, almost lovingly, wanting to memorize every nook and cranny. _God_, can you become entranced with a piece of fucking manufactured wood_?_!

_Obviously you can_, Ichigo deducted flabbergasted.

"You like?" Came the expected, but no less welcomed than usual, chipper question.

Ichigo sneered and glared at the shopkeeper. Torn between wanting to squeeze the life out of him from glee for giving Ichigo something so bloody beautiful and wanting to tore right into Urahara's throat with his fingers for making Ichigo break and succumb to something he was Not. Yet. Sure. he wanted to venture into.

And worse thing was, Urahara knew this would be the outcome even before seeing Ichigo's reaction, probably the pervert knew it even before Ichigo started growing some pubes down there. Urahara was just _that_ good, and that scientifically confident in his fair judgment there was no room for arguing. And Ichigo partially hated himself for acknowledging this, even if it was done subconsciously. He didn't want to owe the mad undercover scientist more than the norm required. It was like threading on the field with quick sand. You never knew when your overconfidence would make you step recklessly and miscalculate.

The orangette swallowed thickly and shakily accepted the gift. "Y—_yeah_."

"I'm glad, then." There was no way in hell Ichigo would get used to the sinister glint in Urahara's eyes. The man was always up to no good and it seemed Ichigo was his favorite test subject more often than not. Well, not like he could outsmart the genius standing before him, and as long as the pranks or little experiments Urahara engaged Ichigo in weren't life threatening then he was fine with it. He could deal with anything that came his way.

Well, at least he thought so few hours ago.

Now he wasn't so sure about not going and strangling the life out of Urahara. Can you fucking imagine a situation where a young, good-looking, intelligent shaman, with a vibrant orange hair and whole future before him becomes tricked into performing a love spell? _To a fucking_ _Demon_, no less? Someone he should fight against not freaking…well—_**fuck**_.

Only now Ichigo started to remember little details like Urahara wearing gloves at the time while he was unpacking the box it was in, and the shopkeeper didn't have _any _direct contact with _The Fucking Book_ after.

_Stupid, stupid, stupid!_! Ichigo chastised himself, wanting to rip the hair out of his skull.

It was the first touch that sealed the deal. Well, maybe Ichigo _did _read some of the incantations in there too. Mostly because he thought Urahara actually pulled a good joke on him which, in his humble opinion, totally justified what Ichigo did next.

He didn't know whether to be relieved it was a harmless book, or be pissed at Urahara for getting his hopes up, at the time. He turned few pages and read a random love biding contract. Each page was filled with _pink. colored. hearts,_ and those little guys with angel wings and golden bows. Damn, but—_anyone_ would feel like it was some sort of a creepy joke. So in a bored, indifferent and sarcastic tone of voice he read the words;

...

"_**Winds of love, come to me,**_

_**Bring my soul mate, I decree.**_

_**As I wish, so mote it be."**_

...

The orangette's brain was experiencing a severe case of short-circuiting. The sight of a real, feline Demon born in the Abyss in _his goddamn room_ was just …_too much_.

His synapses were fried to bits.

Jaw long ago forgotten and impaled in the floor.

Eyes the size of discs.

_You gotta be… __**fucking…**__ kidding me!_! That seemed to be his only coherent thought he could muster.

And then—the fucking Demon—opened his stupid mouth. Declaring now they were stuck together for like… _all the fucking eternity_ or some equally not realistic spam of time. Ichigo didn't know how it could be possible since—_hello?_—he was a human. If he reaches a hundred in today's times he'd be a fucking hero who cheated death for, like, twenty more years than normal human life lasted. And _no,_ he didn't want to find out if what the freak said was possible, in case the bastard before him knew actually how to make Ichigo immortal or some shit.

The next stupid thing the other said—and Ichigo remembered before his brain shut down and he fainted, _face first_—was that the Demon would really hurt Ichigo if the orangette doesn't _satisfy_ him sexually. Quoting; "Ya better not be lousy fuck, _bitch_, or I'll enjoy fuckin' breaking you."

_Can you believe the nerve of the blue-haired bastard?_!

Ichigo obviously couldn't.

But humans are weak creatures in face with some unexpected and abnormal things happening. He couldn't voice how much he bloody despised blue-eyed freak along with his whole race, and that hell would freeze over before the orangette bended over for him like some pathetic submissive bitch.

To his mortification, Ichigo's body decided the perfect self-defense for the shock he experienced would be to turn off the boy like by snatching a plug from the contact.

_Urahara is now officially a fucking dead-man_, was his last thought before darkness swallowed him.

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><p>…<p>

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><p><strong>AN:** _Ohoho!_ What will Grimmjow do now with unconscious berry_?_! Lol! This will be a short story. _Probably_ three chapters. AU-ish verse where demons/monsters/bogeymen, etc. live on the Earth and feed on those rare humans who posses reiryoku—spiritual energy. _A plot gone wrong _where it diverted from my original idea as I was writing, lol.

There's no shinigami or ghosts deal or out of the body experiences. The humans who have spiritual energy come from a lineage of _shamans_ and… Well, you'll get to know about this world as you read next chapters. I hope no one will take it as making fun of things or people, _far from it_, but I'm gonna make a connection to a real life person so… I dunno, just don't want to hear someone interpreting it in a way I didn't have any intentions to.

I treat this fic kind of like stretching before an actual exercise that are my other fics I plan to write, so hopefully it won't seem like a horrible to read word-vomit for any of you. I would have finished new chapter on this weekend if it wasn't for my studies, so expect an update next week. Smexy time will be probably in a third and final chapter.

This was inspired by Dawn McClure Fallen Angel series. That woman can _write_! My favorite books about fallen angels since it's full of smut too, hetero though. If you enjoyed and anticipate more, feedback me, please~

Apple~


	2. Greed

**Chapter 2. Greed.**

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><p>…<p>

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><p>After the bold speech, the demon went to explore the orangette's apartment, and at the same time his new <em>home, <em>because _like fucking hell_ he was going back to the whiteness and emptiness of the Abyss. _Ever._

For the first time in his entire, empty and full of bloodshed, life he was _free_. Unconditionally.

_Well_. Maybe with one. Single and tiny. Little exception. He was bound irrevocably to some shitty human. Him. The Sexta. Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez. A fucking _Espada_. He was like royalty among the demons, and even though he welcomed the new freedom with open arms, it was still stinging his pride he owed it to some lowly creature.

It didn't sit well with him.

Not one fucking bit.

Being bound by a contract of any kind brought all sorts of troubles and restrictions on a demon, even if humans saw it in another light. There existed such strong spells with power beyond human comprehension. Love spells had such power, for example. Since love was as strong a feeling as hate—giving the ideal foundation for a strong contract. It was a modern slavery. Not for a human, but for a demon, since the latter being a highly sensitive supernatural being experienced each and every feeling with strength tenfold amplified.

Not like he could undo the spell. It was indeed too late. It didn't mean he couldn't tease and annoy the human who summoned him, though. The orange-head was like an open book. Every emotion was openly displayed on his face and Grimmjow could tell right away, the young shaman didn't mean for any of it to happen.

_Just my luck_, Grimmjow grinned to himself looking down at the unconscious boy. If the human knew what he was doing, of what he was in possession off—meaning _the titles book_, then Grimmjow would be forever treated as a lap dog, his enormous power at the back and call of a shitty mortal. But it looked like the brat knew jack shit about in what he got himself involved in. That gave Grimmjow a _huge _fucking advantage.

"_Cero,"_ he growled while releasing a ball of compacted energy.

The first thing he did was to burn to bits the unnamed book. Cutting off that way any connection other Espada could have to the human world. And, at the same time, erasing the means for the boy to read the fine print and find out how to control Grimmjow.

The gorgeous demon, with sky-blue hair and eyes the color of the deep ocean, released a deep and jovial laugh. The remains of burned pages slipped through his fingers.

Despite the high-level barrier surrounding the apartment, he could sense he was the only Espada in this realm. The feeling it gave him was _exquisite_. There wouldn't be _anyone_ to threaten his throne now. He'd be the sole ruler—the _King_ on the Earth. Even a Cheshire cat would be jealous of the grin being stretched across his sinfully handsome face.

And it was all thanks to the orange-haired vixenish boy, lying on the floor. Grimmjow would be a filthy liar if he denied how attracted he was to the boy. A boy or a man, since human offspring needed only around twenty years to come of age. For demons it took centuries, and he was _immensely_ thankful for the knowledge he didn't have to pussy foot around the brat. Since the orangette was a man already, he could take anything Grimmjow was going to throw at him. He had to. If not, Grimmjow would give him _hell_ for his weakness and not the good kind of hell. He was a pro at torture of any kind. The place of his origin was a tough school.

Abyss was like some supernatural version of a prison ward. Made so that no top-ranking demon could ever leave. It had something to do with protecting the balance of the world. Many centuries ago, famous shamans locked the most violent of demons inside the barrier with no means of getting out of it from the inside. Grimmjow led his life in the Abyss among his brothers and sisters with bitter knowledge he wouldn't be able to escape their dimension. Forever left with the thought about the other—human world, full of deliciously smelling reishi-rich shamans. And with only a hope—just like some princess in a high tower waiting for the knight in shining armor to kill the dragon and save her.

Grimmjow chuckled to himself while crouching near the young man. His dream came true, didn't it? He was no longer trapped in that world and sooner or later he'd get used to the—short on reishi—human world.

_Wait a minute_, the demon paused alarmed. He was sure his body would be seriously sick, or needed time to get used to the new atmosphere, but weird thing was—he felt the same as in his original world. The demon would even dare to go as far and say… he felt few times better.

Grimmjow inhaled deeply. It was then, that the scent hit him. It wasn't tasteless scent of reishi, but mouth-watering, delicious, intoxicating and rejuvenating one of his mate's spiritual energy.

_Dear God, the human was potent, _Grimmjow thought awestruck. He pulled the man into his arms and nuzzled his face into a crock of orange-haired boy's neck. The scent was stronger now. It was like the human's skin was drenched with the sweet smelling reiryoku. The demon groaned, his head feeling light-headed.

_Mmm_, but the vixen smelled _divine_.

His reiatsu was on low, probably used some suppressant in the day not to influence accidentally any humans. Grimmjow mused, while drinking in the sight of his future lover's features. Perfect catch. A natural red-head, since his eyebrows and lashes had the same orange tainted hue. _Feisty lil' minx,_ Grimmjow bit his lip, so he wouldn't release a groan, at the images the thought provoked. He couldn't help himself. He was a highly sexual being by nature. When he wasn't busy wrecking havoc and destruction it only amplified.

Grimmjow could feel his arousal stirring the longer he held the boy close to his chest. He was overcome with the urge to claim. It didn't had much to do with the contract, he knew, since it was mainly a pact signifying they are tied together rather than a typical _love_ spell in human understanding. The demon knew from experience emotions were fickle and ugly things that changed like a wind. Sexual attraction which became strengthened by the spell was something entirely fucking different. And he was slightly worried over the fact, he was actually pretty damn pleased at the turn of events. Only someone with an extraordinary level of reiryoku could accomplish a fest of ripping one of the best of Espada from their home and prison that was the Abyss. Grimmjow knew just _how_ he could express his thanks, but he didn't want to let the orangette misunderstand who was in control.

He had enough of being treated as a stepping stone to the fucking Butterflaizen. The bitch was ugly when releasing his full demon powers. Acting like their boss, just because he was born with abnormality huge reiryoku. _Ha._ Grimmjow would fucking _love _to see the look on his face when Aizen realized Grimmjow was no longer there. Despite the god-like tendencies of the ugly fucker, Aizen was still powerless to break the kidō barrier—called Caja Negación, surrounding the Abyss.

He felt a little bad for putting his contractor into a complete shock, but honestly, it was the oblivious boy's fault. The demon just wanted to enlighten, and give him few minutes of getting used to the thought they'd be chained for—fucking—ever together. He forgot how weak humans could be.

_Well, he'd get over it. Sooner or later._

He felt annoyed though about the fact he wouldn't be able to talk with the red-head, and get to know him a little bit more. It would suck huge hollow's balls if the demon got his hopes up and the boy turned out to be a disappointment, bore, or real stuck up prick.

_Oh, but I do have the means to get to know him. _The demon grinned.

He stood up, lifted the orangette up—_bridal style_, and laid him on the bed. Next he crawled on top of the boy, straddling him completely. He purred satisfied, as his taut body shifted over the one lying underneath when he bend over. With few simple touches he realized how fucking high must be their compatibility since he was reacting so strongly to the red-head. They were indeed a match made in heaven. With relish, he ghosted with his fingertips and lips over the exposed sun-kissed skin of the red-head's collarbone and neck.

_Damn, but he is fucking irresistible. I wonder how he tastes like. _Just as soon as the thought registered, he flicked his tongue and gave the orangette's neck few licks.

"_Nghhh…" _It wasn't whine, he was damn sure he didn't fucking _whine_. But he couldn't be one hundred percent sure. He felt like a tornado of different emotions was messing up his good judgment, leaving him with a strange feeling as if he'd die the moment he stopped touching the boy.

So he kissed, licked, caressed and worshiped each and every inch of the gorgeous red-head. Until his clouded mind cleared a bit. Grimmjow purposelessly avoided his luscious lips, wanting to wait until the red-head would be fully aware and appreciative of the demons attention. Now first things first—demons had a gift or skill allowing them to infiltrate humans dreams. Grimmjow was a little bit unique in that aspect since he could also invade others' memories as he pleased. The fastest—though dirty and totally intrusive—way to know everything about his mate, without the annoying process of "getting to know each other", was to look into the red-head's every—even the darkest—part of his being.

He couldn't do this without leaving any tracks, unfortunately. Especially, since the boy was of a shaman lineage, but—feeling generous or simply whimsical, Grimmjow decided to make it both ways' type of deal.

He'd share a piece of knowledge about what shaped the demon that was Grimmjow, while he'd steal for himself every memory the boy held dear and guarded from others. That was the equivalent of the absolute ownership. The good and the bad, everything will be Grimmjow's for the taking and no one else's.

_No one else's._

Grimmjow could feel he'd really fucking _enjoy_ his new life.

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><p><em><strong>...<strong>_

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><p>Shiro strolled through the Academy's halls, looking for a mess of orange hair, while paying close attention to any sounds of mayhem.<p>

_Hmm, weird._

He found neither, though.

The orangette was a real walking magnet for trouble. Usually Shiro didn't have _any_ trouble spotting him in the mids of crowd, looking infuriatingly bored while someone tried to pick a fight with him. He was oblivious to the fact, his blatant disregard of any adversary was what brought him such an attention from all kinds of bullies. Shiro experienced this first-hand. Before they became friends he also started off on the wrong foot by trying to provoke the orangette.

_Ah, good times._

Suddenly, he spotted a similar color of hair, but much duller and boring in his humble opinion. It was one of Ichigo's friends, _The Klutz_, like Shiro dubbed her in his thoughts. The things he bothered to know about the annoying woman were very few, but enough to make him despise her with all he got.

She had one, mean and deadly set of boobs, that could easily suffocate anyone within their range of attack. Non existent taste buds, and culinary skills that would put any skilled assassinator's poison to shame. And the bitch had hots for Shiro's best buddy, which made her the albino's public enemy no.1. Yeah, real _princess-_material, indeed. Or maybe only in her dreams and name—Hime Bitch Tits. _Ha._

Che, there was simply no competition when it came to the most catching hair color possible. No one dared to dye their hair on obnoxious carrot. And Ichigo was better than those shitheads, because he was a fucking_ natural,_ fiery red-head. Shiro checked. Insert shit-eating grin.

He made his way to the corner where Hime was sitting and eating her lunch.

"Where's Ichi?" He didn't see the need for engaging in a small talk with the part of the lower species.

"U—uh, what a surprise, Zangetsu-kun. I didn't know you came back from your internship. It must have been tough fighting all those demons and scary too! Kurosaki-kun would be so happy to see you're back too! I could even make a cake for—"

"Nah, no need. Now where _is _Ichi?" He brushed off her annoying yapping not listening to the words at all. Ichigo would be pissed at him if he scared the Bitch Tits off, so he tried to keep the conversation clean, even if she was real good at hitting every of his "do not press" buttons.

"O-oh. Sorry, Zangetsu-kun, I got too excited. Erm—, there was a hell butterfly sent to school informing Ichigo called in sick, but whenever I came to his home with a home-made banana flavored chicken soup, no one answered the door. And I couldn't feel any of his spiritual pressure which is weird since I'm one of the best sensors of reiryoku and normally I could always pinpoint Kurosaki-kun's location easily, but—"

"Enough, I get it. I'll check on 'im some time later, so ya don' have ta come anymore." Shiro cut her mid-speech again. Didn't this bitch know when to shut the fuck up? Maybe Ichigo didn't want to suffer even worse by eating the fucking disgusting things she made and that's why didn't open. _I would do that. Well…, Ichigo wasn't heartless though, so something must be up. I'll have to look into it._

"O—ok, Zangetsu-kun. B—but wait the classes are about to start! Where are you going?"

"Are you blind? I'm skipping. Ichi's more important. Friends do that for each other, _y'know_." The look on Bitch Tits face, like she was slapped, was goddamn priceless. Left Shiro chuckling and in high spirits almost all the way to Ichigo's apartment.

Shiro knew it was nearly impossible for Ichigo to hide his spiritual energy. The albino often had to remember to carry some suppressant pills around in case the red-head got _too_ excited, angry or happy. Which meant all the fucking time. That's why some third party must have had a hand in it.

Shiro didn't fucking like it when some other fuckers strolled into his territory with dirty shoes on.

Those who dared—no one lived to see another day.

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><p>…<p>

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><p><em>To all that's holy<em>, but this demon was one, _perfect_ embodiment of grace and self-confidence. Or more true would be to say he was a personification of smug, lethal, and lusciously sexy in one,_ amazing_ package.

It was nearly impossible for Ichigo to take his eyes off of the blue-haired specimen. It made orangette's fingers itch in a sudden craving to touch and explore the miles of tanned skin, and hard, shaped to perfection muscles. If they weren't tied Ichigo was pretty sure they would be instinctively sliding over the demon's defined pectorals. Oh god, when did he turn into such a shameless slut? Maybe Shiro's attitude was rubbing off on him more than he realized.

He swallowed back a needy whine when he couldn't release his binds no matter how hard the orangette struggled. The moment he regained consciousness he was put in a state of dazed astonishment, paralyzed with dread about what he had done. It triggered his mind into thinking in overdrive, trying to carefully trace each step back that lead to the fucking disaster he was now a part of.

Firstly, it was the shitty demon's fault that his room looked like a hurricane went past through it. But he'd think about the problem, and how it can be solved, some time later. Maybe when his limbs wouldn't fell like a jell-o anymore, and finally start coordinating with the brain like they were supposed to.

Nevertheless, one thing he knew for sure. If he managed to live through this disastrous day, Urahara—fucking—Kiuske would experience the _second_ worst day of his life.

_Ha._ Maybe that would teach the bastard not to mess with Ichigo like—_ever fucking again_.

He had to admit—the stunt Soifon pulled with Hachi; imprisoning Kisuke in a barrier for _a month_, was one of _the_ funniest he had seen in his entire short life. Ichigo didn't know what Urahara did to piss the woman off so goddamn much she plotted against the shopkeeper with the member of the Visored fraction. Gut feeling told Ichigo something it had to do with Urahara's current wife—Yoruichi, the former head of the noble Shihōin family. The orangette remembered how people wouldn't just stop gossiping about the scandal involving those two. He couldn't help but snort how many housewives, or even his sister Yuzu, were enamored with their love for each other. A love or a shocking romance that forced a princess to elope with a lowly shopkeeper.

It was just a surface of the matter though.

Normal people, who didn't have any spiritual powers, were unaware the world had a different and much complex side.

There existed another—some would say _magical_—world hidden by kidō barriers from the sight of normal humans.

Ichigo shook his head in bewilderment, thinking about the ignorance of people. It was hard to find a human who didn't know about J.K. Rowling books about a young wizard. The publicity of them brought an awkward situation for the Seireitei officials, who were supposed to keep this _other_ existing sphere hidden from normal humans. Rowling was one of the graduates from the Shinō—_Spiritual Arts_—Academy. She wrote the series of books that became the most sought out fantasy in previous century. The plot was so crafted yet bold, revealing basically to all reiryoku-free humans about _our_ universe, yet at the same time making it even more like from a fairy tail, actually helping in camouflaging reality more than all of the Seiretei's achievements for more than two thousand years prior.

And people loved it. Wanted to believe such magical world existed. It actually gave modern shamans hope in believing and anticipating the far away future where those with a spiritual power wouldn't be anonymous and non-existing like it's been happening. They were living; normal beings, made from flesh and blood, but they also had other duties, they had to keep in secret from public.

Mainly it was protecting humans from demons. Maybe cliché sounding, but their "night jobs" were that of a work guardian angels should be doing.

Shamans protected humans.

_Mysterious, anonymous superheroes. _Ichigo rolled his eyes at the thought.

People liked to hold onto a belief that there's something waiting for them at the other side of the tunnel.

An afterlife.

Who knew? Nobody checked as of yet. Maybe there was, maybe there wasn't. What Ichigo knew for sure was the fact that monsters lived on the Earth, hid among the humans—disguised, like wolves in sheep's clothing, by taking appearance of their food.

Everyone born onto this world had some spiritual awareness. It faded with years passing or strengthened. It depended on genes; lineage and other factors, like being in constant contact with a person of high spiritual energy. A wave effect could bring the fading power to the full potential back again.

Ichigo knew it happened with his two friends—Chad and Inoue. His reiryoku was raw, untamed, _potent._ Until Urahara, a friend of Ichigo's father, showed him how to learn to keep it relatively low, considering it was _Ichigo_, his friends were already influenced. They weren't upset though. Inoue was an airhead, the girl loved how she became one of those fantasy beings she believed in, and Chad was just glad he was part of Ichigo's life and there weren't any secrets between them.

Orangette was baffled by their reactions, since he had other mindset on things. He could understand where they were coming from and be insanely relieved by how accepting they were of all this, but …he really _despised_ having high reiryoku. It was the reason he lost his mother. Because of his untamed power a hungry demon ambushed them on their way home from school. He would never forget his mother's blood-chilling, final scream as she was stabbed while covering his little body from the invisible attacker. She was a normal human being without any supernatural powers, but she knew enough of the world around to know what the thing that attacked them was.

The first time he realized he was different was not long after Karin and Yuzu were born. It started with an eerie sensation, rising little hairs on the back of his neck, a feeling like he was being watched. He couldn't sleep peacefully in his own room, constantly being aware that _something_ was lying under his bed. Every time he went to sleep he wanted to be brave and refused his mom's offer to tuck him in like a little kid—even though he was just that—and went to sleep by himself, saying goodbye and kissing his mother in the hallway. The few meters he had to walk from the door to his bed, in a dark room, he treated like a survival thing. Day after day, he'd wait in the doorway for few good minutes, waiting for the perfect moment he could sprint to his bed and dive under the covers. Every time he felt like he accomplished something. Like he managed to avoid some phantom hand reaching for his ankle, wanting to pull him under the bed and eat.

Little did he know that he really _did_ have, almost on regular basis, demons lying underneath his bed. Only waiting for Ichigo to miss his steps so they could grab him. The darkness was where they lived, and somehow under the bed was the perfect place where the portal—garganta could be executed without any interferences. It had probably to do with children' wildly fluctuating spiritual pressure making it possible, but Ichigo was short on logistics of it.

There were many times when he woke up with bruises. He written them off as stumbling over something the night before. One day, though, he couldn't delude himself anymore. The clearly visible, finger imprints were telling a different story. After he confronted his mom and dad about it, feeling extremely self-conscious over telling his father he had an encounter with a fucking _boogeyman_—_for god's sake_, Isshin put one of the strongest barriers inside of Ichigo's room, and told him everything about the world.

The_ real_ nature of the world.

Scaring him _shitless _in the process.

Different thing is when you battle with your over-grown imagination each night and different thing is when someone tells you _were fucking right_ to run like a mad-man to your bed, walking on the thin passes of light from a hallway, instinctively avoiding any—as dark as a void—patches of spaces.

_Bloody fucking hell. _

His childhood was irrevocably shattered.

He wished they would have just made fun of him for being a kid, rather than this—this _shit_.

It was just a start of his problems since then. Every fright added to his reiatsu skyrocketing and it was like a beacon for the demons.

Alerting them of his location. His mother was the first victim, and he swore to himself there wouldn't be a repeat.

In the day he felt relatively safe. But at night? _Fuck._ He was a bloody _teenager_ and he _never_ dared to walk after the sunset, no matter how many times Keigo and his other friends insisted he needed to chill out, and go out sometimes. Feeling highly vulnerable and exposed without the safety of the kidō barriers at his house, that is.

He was fifteen when everything started looking up for him. He was finally _of age_ and got a list from the famous among the modern shamans Spiritual Arts Academy, or like some preferred to call it—the _Shinōreijutsuin_.

He was given a chance to learn how control his powers, and be able to use them in a fight with those creatures of the night.

Months of relentless training followed. He polished his skills even outside of the school grounds, mainly at his father's associate—Urahara's place. He had a huge underground space to conduct his experiments, and the only payment he required was for Ichigo to be his guinea pig for some _harmless_—he had the nerve to call it—experiments. As highly suspicious and crept out Ichigo was, he couldn't afford to pass such a golden opportunity. Maybe Urahara wouldn't kill him in the process, being his father's friend and all. He could only hope. The mad scientist also taught Ichigo few priceless skills. They were drilled into Ichigo's flesh and bone. _Literally._ He can still remember the taste of fear on his tongue when Urahara chased him with the intent to cut and kill. But, after few months of this _hell _he realized he was _damn fucking good_ at controlling his power.

Instead of his reiatsu; it was his self-confidence that was skyrocketing daily.

_Welcome teenage life, heh. _

That was the time when he met his current best friend—Shirosaki Zangetsu, who went by the name Shiro. Even though the albino was a year older with time they became nearly inseparable. Partying, drinking, training, you name it. One was never seen without the other. And, what a catch they were. There wasn't a single person in the Academy, and outside, who wasn't lusting for the two. Many thought they were an item and didn't even try to woo Ichigo or Shiro, except maybe for a promise of a stress relief or a quick romp.

It was a convenient misunderstanding. Their relationship was established as very close friends, though. _Well_—being honest—the lines between them were too far nonexistent. And the feelings they had for each other, even if they weren't fully aware of, gone far deeper than a plain old friendship. But neither wanted to shatter the frail balance, in fear they would loose the other by acting on their feelings. And so, they hid their thoughts and desires in the deepest parts of their being, and tried to move on.

Unsuccessfully, though.

Their relationship was about to be even more undefined and twisted out of the social norms. Demons were very selfish and gluttonous creatures who, above all else, loved exploring new territories or possibilities. And, after getting to know about Shiro through Ichigo's memories, Grimmjow decided the albino would be the ideal piece to his collection. A drop-dead gorgeous shaman who was equally bloodthirsty as any demon. Another predator, Grimmjow could tell.

The demon would enjoy breaking Shiro in, claiming him for them—exclusively.

He smirked.

Something told the demon Ichigo wouldn't be displeased by the turn of events, _at all_. He'd fucking _love it_, he was sure. Grimmjow could make Ichigo hard as a rock while only spouting filthy little things about what he'd love to do to his pale friend. Since Grimmjow lived to make his mate happy, Shiro had to be claimed by the two of them, before everything else.

_Ah, greedy indeed._

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><p>…<p>

* * *

><p>Was that grunting he could hear?<p>

"Ichi, ya better not be doin' anything naughty in plain sight," Shiro said as he walked in; voice a mix between a purr and growl of warning. "Ya really should do this kinda thing in th' bathroom or Imma take it as an invitation ya want fer me to ta join in on th' fun."

With each step taken to Ichigo's bedroom he could hear clearer. That weird grunting sound was becoming louder and more urgent now. Shiro fisted his hand on a door knob and pushed the door open. But, what he saw, was nothing of the sort he'd imagined it would be.

_Ugh, Dear… Lord—_

He opened his eyes and blinked. Then blinked again, for a good measure, thinking this was some _one hell of a hallucination_. But the image hasn't shifted, no matter how many times he blinked or shook his head. Suddenly, it dawned on him. This shit was _real_.

_Oh—oh my fucking… god! Ichigo? What the fuck has happened in here_!_?_

He was looking at the half-naked body of his best friend who was hanging from the ceiling by a _Demon Arts_'s spell. And not some measly one at that, he paled. He knew his friend was capable of breaking bounding spells like it was a walk in the park. Shiro still couldn't stop chuckling when he remembered the shocked face Rukia made after Ichigo broke her spell by only using his muscle strength and slight raise in reiatsu. It was **Sai**—_Block_, a spell enforced with spoken incantation at that. Still Ichigo didn't break a sweat back then. But now?

_Fuuuck._

What he saw now wasn't anything even _close_ to the mockery of a spell enraged Rukia pulled. Since Ichigo was bound by one of the strongest ever created. _**Bakudō no.99—Kin**__, _meaning_ Seal. _The only reason Shiro knew about it was when one time he pissed off _the wrong fucking person_—Urahara's friend Tessai. The albino had to spend goddamn _hours_ thrown in a huge-ass hole, bound by this very same spell until he apologized. That was the most humiliating experience _ever_. Not to mention the brats Ururu and her annoying brother Jinta were dropping their spits from the above, and trying to scare him if he doesn't apologize soon enough the flesh eating worms will emerge from the earth and eat out his heart.

It was _the _scariest night of his life. Mainly because he drifted off to sleep for few hours, bored out of his fucking mind and with no intentions to apologize for shit. But then in next second he started dreaming about the very thing they scared him with to break his pride. Oh god, _scream he did_. When he woke up apologies followed as you can guess.

_Little shits, 'm gonna get back at 'em an' then no amount of beggin' will be good enough._

Getting back to the present—Ichigo's hands were awkwardly but snugly tied behind his back. In addition, the spiritual fabric was wrapped around his upper body, and continued to pin its target to the ground with several iron shafts in an "X" shape. There was another spell used, suspending the orangette to the ceiling, inch above the ground. It was probably a lot weaker one, since all of Ichigo's motoric functions were creased, thanks to the above ninety _bakudō_. There was no need for extorting oneself and using two strong incantations if the target was immobilized enough.

Shiro, though highly concerned for his friend, couldn't stop drinking in the sight of those straining muscles as Ichigo desperately worked at his constraints, sweating profusely from both nerves and exertion. Ichigo's mouth was gagged by a blue material. By Shiro's guess it was made of silk since it had a particular shine in the dim light of the room. It was wrapped around his head, totally hindering his speech. There was also a second cloth color of blue skies, and he was blindfolded with it.

No amount of shaking his head or pinching himself helped Shiro with waking up from what he supposed was the closest thing to a _wet dream_ he ever had.

_Damn._ He went looking for Ichigo with the single intention to bitch about his absence at the Academy, and missing his grand comeback from the frontline. He wanted to boast he killed more demons than all of the other students put together. He could even be recruited to _the Onmitsukidō_**,** the Special Forces, in the near future if he kept it up. It was his dream since he could remember.

Everything he wanted to say to the red-head died on his tongue.

It was both surreal and plain hot. If this was some kind of a dream Shiro didn't want to wake up—like ever. The albino came closer to the restrained red-head and poked Ichigo sharply in the ribs just to make sure that this was _indeed _real.

"I—Ichi?"

Ichigo stilled for the moment. Too engrossed in his own misery, probably cussing to all hell and back the bastard who cast the spell on him, to realize someone other was in the room. And then it dawned on the red-head _who_ exactly it was. Despite the blindfold and gag mouth, Shiro could see how firstly Ichigo paled, then blushed a crimson red. Shiro wanted to slap himself in the face for thinking the blue really brought out Ichigo's hair and adorable blush. If they were alone Shiro wouldn't hesitate to take advantage of the situation. He dared to find a human who fucking _would_. But, since Ichigo got caught so easily, Shiro wasn't in any better position. He needed to be quick and release his friend.

The albino realized only moment later Ichigo was mumbling something that sounded vaguely like, _"Stop staring and get me down, you fucker!"_

Shiro knew that there was something very,_ very_ wrong with the way he was responding to the stunning vision before him, but he couldn't help himself.

"Ya want th' gag off, Ichi?" He asked. His voice a tone deeper and rougher as he whispered into Ichigo's ear. He came closer to the younger man. The albino felt like he was drugged, and wasn't in control of his own body anymore. He observed his hand with mild curiosity as it rose and slid over Ichigo's back, across the bindings and bare, sweat slicked skin, eliciting a shudder from the red-head who started to squirm once again to break the restrains off.

The red-head was fruitlessly trying to get the gag off, among other things, while snarling viciously for Shiro to _stop playing fucking games_.

"Sorry, Aibou." Shiro grinned crookedly while sliding up the blindfold slowly with one finger. "I think I could get used ta seeing ya like this. Mmm, _definitely_. Mute. Tied up. Completely at my mercy. An' still wit' so much passion an' fire burnin' in yer eyes. _Fuck_, but yer making _Shiro Jr._ very pleased right now, _King_."

The albino could now see those glaring, amber colored eyes looking into his demonic ones, promising a very _bloody_ and_ messy_ death in the near future, if he didn't stop messing around. Shiro had to admit—those eyes, so beautiful, kind and compassionate usually, now full of death and ferocity were _breathtaking_. He felt like he was loosing himself in their depths.

"Oh, ya started without me? Naughty Ichi." Shiro froze, and shivered slightly, hearing the deep and rumbling voice he didn't recognize.

"How does it feel, my _Vixen_?" Grimmjow suddenly appeared behind the red-head, stroking his sides, and eliciting a violent spasm in response. "Still wanna be free?" Ichigo released a grunt of confirmation, eyes narrowed and laced with a hint of fury. He knew exactly what Grimmjow was up to, and he didn't want to pull his best friend into the mess. It was enough _he_ had to deal with the over-excited and horny demon on daily basis for nearly a week now. It was _just a freaking week_, but it felt like Ichigo knew Grimmjow just as long as his pale friend. It was surreal, and fucking with red-head's fair judgment quite well. The fucking prick used some weird ass ability on him when the orangette was unconscious, and they exchanged their memories and thoughts together.

It lasted almost a day and a half, leaving Ichigo disoriented and so fucking _scared_. He had to relieve one of the most horrifying from his memories, and some of Grimmjow's weren't full of sunshines and rainbows. It was blood, death, gore, loneliness, yearning for something unobtainable; for love, affection, friendship. After the connection ended, Ichigo was reminding more of some bloody, sobbing mess. His heart hurt, his head hurt, and it was a strange feeling of connection or closeness to the blue-haired demon that was the most frightening thing he remembered experiencing in his life. But, any violent retort was silenced on his lips, the moment he saw that_ look_ in Grimmjow's eyes. So sad, so tired of merely existing, so _lonely_. He couldn't say anything but wrap his arms around the demon's neck, and proceed to kiss him with all passion and whirlwind of destructive emotions. But then, quilt came flooding his senses when he remembered Shiro. The red-head felt like he was betraying his best friend, and the feelings he had for him by choosing the demon he just met.

It was probably the desperation and anguish in Grimmjow mate's eyes spurring the demon to actually pause and take another option under the consideration. Demons weren't monogamous creatures by far. Not like he was in any _relationship_ with the mortal, though the red-head quite grew on him. And he'd rip any fucker's guts out if he even as much as _tried_ to scratch his mate's cheek. But it wasn't any form of an attachment, Grimmjow reasoned with himself. It was purely "don't touch what's mine, fucker" type of deal.

But if that was entirely true, would he be willing to consider his "property's" wishes? Would he bother with pleasing his mate if he treated him only as an object? And doing everything in his power to prevent from the confused and torn look to haunt the red-head's eyes?

_Fuck_, he was _whipped_. He realized flabbergasted.

It was then he decided to take Shiro in. Like some abandoned _stray_, because he liked the comparison. And he liked what he already knew about the albino. He was one hell of a fucker, and he'd be the perfect person to keep Grimmjow on the edge. The demon also _wanted_ the albino. Was his judgment wrapped and influenced by Ichigo's memories and experiences he had with the albino? He wasn't sure. But Grimmjow had to acknowledge Shiro was one hilarious and interesting bastard.

He wondered how good he was in bed. He could bet, he was spectacular. Especially, considering he was on pair with Ichigo and _that_ red-head totally lived up to his reputation. Be it outside of the bed or when they were rolling in the sheets.

"What would ya like to do, _Shi_?" he asked.

And those eyes, so unique and befitting of a demon. Gold swimming in the pool of midnight black. They made him want to do terrible things to the pale man.

Grimmjow placed his face close to Shiro's, standing behind him, enjoying the discomfort that was obviously visible on the other man's face. He had no idea of the albino's sexual preference, but he got few times a raging hard on when reminiscencing some vivid memories about Shiro's fighting style.

It was bloody, vicious and epic. _A controlled chaos_. And so fucking _arousing_.

Grimmjow hoped to get some reciprocation from the pale fucker for boners he suffered, _dammit._

Well, Ichigo took care of them, but _still._

"_Get th' hell off of me._ Who th' _fuck_ ya think ya are, you fuckin' demon?_!_" Shiro snarled, snapping at Grimmjow, and not at all pleased with dexterous fingers wandering over his hipbones.

"Ya really don' want this, eh?" Grimmjow lowered his voice, lips sliding teasingly over the pale ear. "And what would ya say if I told you Ichigo gets off on the thought of havin' his dick inside of yer tight lil' hole? Or would you prefer to be the one givin', _hm_? Pounding into Ichi with abandon, enjoying his moans and screams _'oh yes, shiro, fuck me harder, you can do it'_—" Grimmjow gave a quick, kittenish lick to the appendage, then proceeded to laugh with mirth, relishing in the growl voiced by the albino.

"Why upset? Think ya could handle _my Ichi_? I gave 'im a helluva good training those past few days. Don't think ya'd be able to best me, _bitch_." Grimjow rubbed his own bulge up against Shiro's firm backside, while wondering what it would feel like without the layers of clothes between. Only skin on naked skin. He pushed him forward, till Shiro could feel the warmth radiating from the bound orangette. The pale man gulped visibly, trying hard not to succumb to the evil whispers of the demon standing behind him. He knew he lost the battle the moment the next words slipped from his mouth.

"Is tha' a challenge?" If the question came out a little bit more breathless than angry as he intended, the albino didn't notice. And Grimmjow sure as hell didn't mind.

"Is your dick up fer it?" Shiro's last coherent thoughts were _'I'm going to kill this fucker, not purify but rip out his innards and feed it to the dogs'_ and _'oh motherfucking— damn, this feels really, _really_ fucking good.'_ It didn't really matter what he thought anymore. Grimmjow was damn good at persuasion. Doing something down there with his skilled hand on the front of Shiro's slacks, made things like rationality and consequences seem unimportant right now.

"Tch, worry about yer own prick, ya cunt. After making the King scream his throat hoarse from pleasure, Imma take care of yer ass too." The entire time, Shiro had stubbornly prevented any sounds other than an occasional hiss or mumbled curse escape his lips.

"_Heh._ Promise?" It was not a plea. The demon spoke as if it was a _command_.

"Bet yer ass, I do." Came breathless statement.

"_Sweet_." Was Grimmjow's smug response.

Ichigo could only roll his eyes at the exchange, and try to shift his erection to a more comfortable position. He couldn't do this very well, since you know, the only thing he could use were his fucking _legs_. _Dammit._ Another sleepless night awaited him, he could fucking bet.

Fucking demons and their unsatisfied libidos.

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><p>…<p>

* * *

><p>AN: Wooho! This isn't the direction where I wanted to take it. _Weird._ Lol. This is what happens when a new idea pushes out the earlier one. Apologizes for not many dialogues, I'll try to change it, though maybe I'm just that type of writer. Well, you tell me if it was any good since as an author I can't be objective for shit.

I gotta pay dues where they need to be paid, I forgot to do this before. It was late and I went to sleep after posting. First thing—I'm utterly grateful to **CrystalMoon23** for introducing me to the world where Shiro isn't a bloodthirsty creature but closest to Ichigo person who understands him completely. Yours were the first works I read and _utterly loved_. Shiro became my hero since then. I can't see him in another light than as Ichigo's closest friend, lover, and an awful and sexy tease. Am _so_ grateful for opening my eyes, you have no idea, *hugs tightly*

Second, kudos to my babe— **Toringtino**, for writing brilliant 'Crossroad Blues'. Your work made my heart clench and tears sprung up, because some lines hit too much home. Those are bad memories so I won't go in there. _But_ I felt also a fondness and connection because of something different happening in my life. When I was about six, I liked watching scary movies, my parents were pretty laid back about it and it was one of the few things I loved about them. I remember after seeing one movie it was "Critters" I was constantly imagining those little creatures are hiding under my bed and waiting for the opportunity to grab me. Seriously, *chuckles* the Supernatural-plot bunny and the experience I had was what inspired me to write about how Ichigo got to know about the _other_ world. Children are really perceptive and have wild imagination. I bared this 'burden' on my own, heh, but y'know, I knew it wasn't real. Different thing for Ichi here~ So thankies, Birdie~ I wouldn't remember about it if I haven't read your lines first! Am a big girl now and bogymen don't scare me anymore, lol. ~^^

Thanks for the flood of alerts and favorites, guys! I would really appreciate it if you paused and wrote me few lines what you think about it. I keep having this analogy inside of my head—a stripper trying real hard at his performance and getting only claps of applause and not any tips. That saddens me a little. But thanks to those who took their time and reviewed—you made me feel accomplished, *squishes*

Before I write the final chapter I wanna write a chapter for one of my One Piece fics and it can delay me, but—y'know—they say; patience is a virtue, lol. I hope I made you guys hungry for more~!

Apple~


	3. Acceptance

**Warning:** This chapter is mostly Grimm/Shiro interaction/fighting/bit of dirtiness, so those of faint of heart and** heavily** Ichigo/someone oriented I advise to skip it. If you are tolerant, could kill for some action from those two bloodthirsty naughty boys, and want to see some male-bonding while they nearly kill each other—then feel free to indulge, my ducklings~

It's very important chapter and I can assure you—you won't be disappointed~

**Chapter 3. Acceptance. **

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><p>…<p>

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><p>Ichigo learned at school that it's instinct that drives all animals.<p>

The stronger the predator the more lethal and primal the calling becomes. Spurring them on—at a mere scent of blood—to pursue mindlessly their prey. Until they corner it, and sink razor-sharp teeth in the warm flesh, enjoying how life escapes from the twitching body.

Ichigo never before related this image to any human. Demons—yes, because they were vile creatures that thought single-mindedly only about feeding. And humans in his eyes were weak as lambs, needing constant protection. _But_, he needed to reevaluate his beliefs slightly, now. Adding to the equation his crush and fellow shaman—_Shirosaki_.

Because taking under consideration the circumstances—humans _could _become animals in the long run too.

Predators, hunting their prey, that is.

And this was exactly how Ichigo felt at that moment. Like a trapped and bleeding rabbit with no means to escape the big, bad wolf armed with one, deadly set of teeth. The thing he was confused about, though, was that in no way he could shake the feelings of eagerness and excitement, coursing through his blood. He was vulnerable, with no means to escape from the binding him bakudō, but he wasn't shivering from fear. While looking into the intense and hungry golden irises it made him think; he wasn't feeling like some defenseless rabbit, but rather like a fairy tail's Little Red Riding Hood.

Trembling from anticipation at the prospect of being at his pale predator's mercy.

Ichigo always thought there was something wrong with _the Little Red_. Deceptively sweet, innocent, and helpless, wearing an eye-catching blood-red cloak, with a basket full of deliciously smelling food enchanting the wild beasts from miles away, carefree and oblivious to the dangers of the forest. He always had this inkling there had to be more to the story than it was let on. It's usually hinted it was the wolf's fault. He was the one depraved and a blood-thirsty creature. But what if the reality was more twisted and complex? Like, for example, the Little Red Riding Hood was in fact a sex deviant and closet masochist, enjoying the Sunday morning trips to the grandma's house just to feel the thrill when met face to face with _the Big Bad_?

There's always a possibility. An alternative universe. A sick and perverse tale, censored for the sake of little children.

Ichigo swallowed the excess saliva pooling in his mouth surreptitiously. Shiro's expression was cool and unreadable, but spiced with a touch of menace. Calm before storm. Or just as if he was about to go into battle. Watching Shiro like that always made him _so_ excited he no longer knew which way was up. It was like he got transferred into a different dimension where time magically stops and the only thing that moves, lives, breaths and exists is the lethal looking albino.

Fuck him sideways, but it was plain… _hot_.

Ichigo glanced to the side, over Shirosaki's shoulder. Caught sight of the demon's defiant, sneering expression half hidden beneath heavy bangs of his untamed, waist-long sky blue hair. The moment Grimmjow locked his Abyssinian eyes with Ichigo's own amber-colored ones, the demon purred with a wicked… _wicked_ smirk only a real demon could master, right into the albino's right ear.

"Naa, before I let ya play with my feisty lil' Vixen here, I'd like ta get to know ya better. What do ya say …_Shiro_?"

There were a few things that alerted Shiro to the threat. The slight change in the lighting. A shift in the atmosphere of the room. The violent yet controlled rise of reiatsu around. And also, the flare of danger that skittered along his spine, like an army of furious ants. He was lashing out with his fist before his conscious mind had even registered the demon's evil intent. The solid contact of his knuckles with the iron-like forearm, armed at the end with a deadly set of razor-sharp claws, was all the confirmation he needed.

Someone was clearly looking for a fight.

_Ha,_ he sneered internally, _no need ta ask me twice, Blue._

They spun apart when they realized neither of them budged—no matter the pressure they tried to put, be it physical or spiritual. Shiro took up a low guard, one hand going for his knee-high combat boots and revealing a black eight-inch-long combat knife. Grimmjow, on the other hand, rolled into a more aggressive stance, with claws outstretched, ready to rip away pieces of flesh from the albino's body at the sight of a weakness. They stood like that for long while. Already doing battle but in their minds. For now, they analyzed each other's stances. Eyes wild, excited_, hungry. _

Neither budged.

Their eyes locked briefly. A widening of Shiro's pupils was the only thing that alerted Grimmjow about the incoming attack.

They lunged at each other as if they were lovers. But in place of feverish kisses, or short of painful embraces—they kissed with their blades, and touched with their kicks and fists.

Shiro ducked. Left hand touching the floor for better leverage and he executed a perfect, rock-shattering, roundhouse kick. With the intention to take the demon's head off using the brute force only. Grimmjow didn't even think of evading it, but accepted it with his right elbow, grinning like a little kid on a Christmas day when his arm went numb for a moment. Shiro grunted approvingly and tested Grimmjow's guard with a flurry of fast kicks, or swift knife slashes. Sparks flew whenever the albino's steel clashed with the demon's claws. Three of Shiro's swings were solidly blocked, but two were only deflected. He tried searching for an opening by using his dexterous legs. But a threat of the extremely sharp craws too close to his right Achilles tendon forced Shiro to change the trajectory of one of the kicks, at the last second, or suffer some surely important damage. He spun around crouching in a position perfect for a low kick. Grimmjow, momentarily surprised at the incredible agility of the albino, retreated his claws and did a back-flip—to dodge the attack and to put some distance.

Grimmjow laughed maniacally, relishing the moment. He started circling around the other man, "_Fuckin' A_. Yer even better than from what I saw in Ichigo's memories, _Shaman_. Guess ya must've sharpened yer skills while killin' trash." The demon purred. His pulse was accelerating. A light sheen gracing his throat.

_God_, but he loved this adrenaline rush. It was almost as good as sex. Almost.

He removed his white jacket leaving his torso bare. Relishing internally while seeing the appreciative look Shiro gave him and how the albino unconsciously licked his lips to moisture them. Grimmjow wouldn't mind to let the albino have a taste of him.

Not at all.

Even so, it was his policy he never made it easy for the other party.

"Like what ya see, Whitey? Try to put _a scratch_ on me an' I may be generous an' let ya see the rest. If you _beg,_ that is."

Grimmjow grinned as he searched the albino's face. He wanted to make him fucking angry, delirious with hate that was spiced with lust for blood. He wanted to see what he had seen on the battle field so many times, in his past—hundreds, or was it thousands of human years ago. He wasn't in it for pain. Well, he didn't think so or it wasn't his objective at least, and not that the young duckling of a shaman—even if a prodigy—could hurt him. But, there were some types of pain that set his nerves_ on fire._

It was in his blood. In his bones. And in the air he breathed in. _The violence_.

Sometimes he wondered whether it was a kind of side effect of the life he had led. Full of death and pain. Or maybe because his senses were dulled from so many battle wounds with other high-class demons. Over the stupidest of thing, or just to kill boredom, that is. Well, what could you do locked up for hundreds of years with a bunch of crazed, battle-hungry monsters? He loved to fight. He loved to kill. He hated every motherfucking Espada there, so things like sex were frowned upon. There was no one who interested him in such a way. And, it was also a different kind of pain to experience. To celibate. Good thing he could vent his frustration by using his fists, though.

Whether was it the ache of overworked bones or the clear, cold sting of claws or a sword when the blade sliced without hesitation through his _hierro_; the steel skin. He had realized with startling clarity one day that all the things he loved brought pain in their wake. He had come to relish it. To crave it. And even _long_ for it. From the moment he turned from a cub into an adult his life could be summed up as a survival game of the fittest. When he fought he felt an exhilaration that was close to sex.

Hungry, fierce, _raw_.

He was ablaze with lust whenever Ichigo's body met his own in a struggle of speed, agility and power. It was the same with Shirosaki now. The force of every blow sent an ache of pleasure straight to his groin and he wanted more.

_Always_ more.

He came back with his thoughts to the present after he taunted the albino, waiting for reaction.

Shiro's eyes flashed angrily. "Tch. Cocky lil' shit, ain't ya? Mah, two can play th' game. Quit pussyfooting around an' pulling back yer fists or ya will never get t' touch this piece of sexiness my irresistible body is. Are ya even _tryin'_, lil' Puss in Boots?"

The albino drawled the nickname, both a tease and insult. He realized passingly the demon didn't know much about their world and the fairy tale, but still it was a valid affront to the cat-like demon. Ha, what a joke. Animal—a _demon_—trying to pretend to be a human, wearing clothes and shoes. It was a first for Shiro to see such a sight. Usually the ones he killed were deformed, hideous motherfuckers, but this one—_oh,_ this one—was simply …_unique_. And, the albino wasn't thinking about the demon's looks. Even if it did happen to be another reason to put this demon into a totally different category of _Gorgeous._ _But,_ the main cause why Shiro's blood sung in his veins from joy was actually the feel of the nearly overpowering reiatsu the demon possessed. Normally, low-class demons had a tasteless, bland kind of feel to their spiritual energy, but this sky blue haired demon had the most intoxicatingly alluring aura from _any_ kind he had ever came across.

It was like being surrounded by dark matter, evil and cruel, but warm, tempting and _challenging_. And, Shiro _never_ turned away from a challenge thrown in his face.

To think Ichigo played with this fascinating beast for over a week. By himself, no less.

Not fair.

Not _fucking fair,_ at all.

But Shiro wasn't the kind that moped around and mourned about things he couldn't stop from happening. He just needed to make up for the lost time—hundredfold, he smirked self-satisfied after coming to this conclusion. He flipped the buttons of his shirt loose, letting his designer's black dress shirt to hung open and follow every movement his body made. Shiro didn't know a man or a woman who wouldn't get thrilled seeing his perfectly defined muscles, pulling and shifting over his bones like waves on the sea. Graceful and stunning yet possessing the dangerous power to destroy when angered.

His wrath spilled when he heard Grimmjow speaking, "I think yer misunderstanding somethin' here. Right now, I'm just lowering myself to yer pathetic level, _human_. If ya want to see what I'm capable off—quit stalling and start fuckin' attacking me, bitch. Or maybe yer too intimidated by my reiatsu? I see yer looking a lil' bit pale here. I can tone it down fer ya, wouldn't want the fun to be over too soon, eh?"

The albino made a strangled noise behind his clenched teeth—like a growl of an infuriated beast—but the words that he finally got out were clear. "Ya really want ta make me angry, Blue?"

_How many times_ Grimmjow toyed with the idea of bringing it up with Ichigo? He lost count. He sensed the orangette would probably just laugh it off, not fully understanding the point of the vicious fight that would lead to mind-clogging sex. He had tried to make the orangette furious a couple of times before, but each time it had either ended in a fight and no sex. Or sex and no fight.

Either was good.

But both would be_ so much better._

"Yeah…" Came a breathless reply, startling Shiro. The albino's eyes widened in sudden realization.

_Oh—__**oh**__. So that's what's it all about. Fine by me, _he thought.

The young shaman grinned next. Cold and shark-like.

"_Be my guest, Puss." _He purred.

If each and every of their hits weren't executed with deadly precision with the intent to _kill_, the breath-taking show of skills and power would be a pleasure to observe.

They were darting and blocking and countering strikes, endlessly. Fast and efficient with each stroke, pushing each other to their very limits.

Harder. Better._ Faster. And..._ _**stronger**, with each attack._

"_Bala."_

But then pain exploded across Shiro every sense as he suddenly registered what had happened. Grimmjow hit him unexpectedly with a red ball of compacted energy, so small yet fast, the albino wasn't able to dodge in time. His back and the back of his head as well, had smashed into the hard wood of the table, sending nauseating, waves of pain throughout his stomach and chest and causing his limbs to tremble. Stars danced before his eyes, so bright they burned his vision, his ears were ringing, and hell, at this point he could even taste pain.

Really. Fighting with this high-class demon without using incantations was pain in the ass. But it went both ways. The sky blue haired freak also wasn't going all out.

At least not yet.

Shiro grit his teeth and snapped his head back, trying to get rid of the ringing in his head and swimming vision. Maybe he couldn't kill the bastard looking how the things were going, but he'd be damned if he made it easy for the demon! But then, as he rose from the rubble, with a flickering twist of the albino's wrist, everything froze. His elbow was wrenched behind his back and he was pressed face to face with the ecstatic demon. The sharp edge of flawless steel was hard against Shiro's neck. His_ own _blade. And not the dull side, but the _blade_. With how much pressure it was pressed Shiro fully expected to look down and see the blood pouring from his opened throat.

He always kept his favorite knife sharp and ready. And now, it was only his thin human skin against the razor's edge and a maddening, shivering tickle of Grimmjow's overwhelming spiritual pressure. It was only Grimmjow's will keeping him alive as if to say he had all the power over the albino now.

_Arrogant lil' shit,_ the albino sneered to himself.

Shiro's body frozen in place. He couldn't even swallow properly or he'd risk being cut. Lifting his gold on black eyes to the blue inferno that were Grimmjow's own made him captivated. Still, he was aware of his surroundings enough to see a faint tickle of blood, sliding along the demon's temple.

_When have I managed ta cut 'im? _Shiro tried to remember but failed.

It was not a battle, it was close to a personal _war_. And during war confusion unexpected things happen.

Despite the compromising position, the albino smiled cockily. He lifted his pale hand and wiped with the pad of his forefinger at a stray streak of blood from Grimmjow's face. He slipped it next between his lips and sucked on it, enjoying the distinctive flavour. As their eyes met he noticed the demon's eyes flick down to his lips as he slowly withdrew his finger. He swiped with the blue-inked tongue over his finger once again, deliberately slow. To the casual observer Grimmjow gave away nothing, but Shiro noticed the bob in his throat as he swallowed.

"Looks like I won," He smirked.

Grimmjow regarded him with an amusement and bend over to lick at Shirosaki's collarbone. He retreated with a tongue hanging from between his lips and Shiro saw the red blood on it.

"Ya wish, it's a tie. But let me get this straight—it's me who holds yer blade now, and no matter how skilled of a spell-caster ya are, yer still no match for me in my released state. The only reason I didn't go full out on yer pale ass is because of the pesky Vixen here who bitched at me for ruinin' his apartment. It's a pain in the ass to cast a high-level spells to hide our wildly fluctuating reiryoku, enough as it is. I don't feel like dealin' with bunch of old farts, goin' after me with pitch an' forks. So… I have a much suited job fer ya and yer smug mouth, but it can wait. Now, let me show you somethin' interesting, Shi. I'm sure ya'll fuckin' _love_ it."

Grimmjow ended his speech with an increase of his spiritual pressure. He could sense the breaking point of the barrier, but it looked like the double and triple strengthened with incantation bakudō was holding up quite nicely. Maybe he couldn't go all out yet, but he could, without a doubt, have some fun while testing its limits.

Looking back to his pray, the demon saw how Shiro's legs were close to giving out on him. Trembling under the force of the demon's spirit. The albino felt it like a touchable thing. It was thrumming through his body like a bass of music, rattling his bones in the process. He started gasping; he didn't know whether from strain or was it excitement that made his breath go shallower and faster.

Grimmjow enjoyed and relished in the power he had over the shaman. He moved the combat knife slowly, dragged it over albino's flesh, making a trail from his pulse point to collarbone. Leaving a whiter than Shiro's skin line, but not pressing hard enough to draw blood. Not yet, anyway. Shirosaki couldn't help but close his eyes and shiver enjoying the thrill having a sharp blade hard-pressed against his neck. When it touched a particular sensitive spot he groaned helplessly and bared more of his skin for Grimmjow to caress. It was stupid and dangerous, he knew, but somehow the situation he found himself being in was screwing with his perception of reality, what's wrong and right, and he just wanted to succumb to the feeling.

It was the selfish, darker side that took a reign over him and so he surrendered, letting the body do the talking.

Grimmjow shifted his reiatsu, manipulating it over the blade's edge so it would listen to him and cut when he wanted or stay dull when the master ordered it. It was a tool. But a tool with a soul engraved in it. Only things really cared for by their owners have this distinction. And, obviously, Shiro really cared for this particular blade since it possessed a strong link to his rightful master. It was rebelling against Grimmjow's reiatsu, but against an Espada class demon any resistance was futile.

He went lower with it. Stroking and arousing.

With the deadly eight inches of steel he caressed slick flesh of albino's body. He pushed against the line of the black shirt with the blade's edge, slipping it off and revealing more of the deliciously pale skin to caress. The demon moved it teasingly down, past the tendons of Shiro's right arm, putting pressure in sensitive and vulnerable places. It was making Shiro jumps every time, anticipating the moment his blade will break his skin, but obviously Grimmjow had a little bit of too much fun with this situation. And each time he left the skin unmarked, while continuing to slowly bare more of Shiro's pale glory for Grimmjow's starved eyes. With the very point he circled once, then few more times around a perfect ashen-colored nipple. He smirked as it hardened against the chill of the metal.

_Someone here has a really nice kink if ya ask me,_ Grimmjow laughed to himself.

The demon went behind Shiro. Sharp edge of the combat knife dancing along the line of his spine. Halting and caressing the places where faint scars could be spotted. The expanse of Shiro's flawlessly pale skin was full of them. Pink, irregular, rough to the touch and unearthly appealing to the demon. He guessed Shiro wasn't one who preferred less painful hearing spells over stitches, but Grimmjow liked it about him.

Scars were a warrior's pride and it made him that much more excited seeing the scar-ridden stretch of Shiro's back. Surely fighting like a mad man. Outnumbered and in supposedly helpless position—dozens of times. But always with insane grin on his face and eyes shining from thrill of the kill—thirsty for carnage and bloodshed. Be it his own or his enemies.

Grimmjow caressed those pinkish scars eliciting a whine out of Shiro at the handling, since they were just slightly more sensitive than the rest of his back.

They were both achingly hard now and it wasn't only from the battle lust. This was what he needed. This was what Shiro could give him. A desire steaming not from pain yet intertwined with it like a vine does a tree. A longing that came from needs of the flesh only.

Pure, untwisted, _primal_.

Next the blade was falling away. Scattering to the ground. He didn't require it now as the demon grabbed a fistful of snow-white locks and pulled Shiro's mouth to his own awaiting lips. His strong, claw-free now, capable hands rose to hold Shiro's face.

As a warrior Grimmjow was good with any kind of blade. His hands dexterous and skilled from dozens of decades of experience. So used to threaten and kill, but even more so when it came to giving pleasure. He manipulated them both out of the rest of the rubble, mouths never parting, tongues clashing and curling around each other. It was still a fight. Still a battle. Only of a different kind.

Grimmjow smiled internally thinking how he found another addictive flavour, rivaling Ichigo.

They parted to take a breath. As the albino's eyes fluttered open he locked them with Grimmjow's. Seeing acceptance, honest desire in them, and something akin to trust swirled in those blue depths. As if they were fated rivals. This unusual chaos of emotions spilling from intense gaze of the demon, disarmed Shiro utterly and wholly.

What the fuck was wrong with the world he lived in, that only few people and some goddamn bloody _demon_ could look Shiro straight in the eyes? Without flinching or being disgusted by his appearance, that is?

Grimmjow was just a _monster._ There was no need to delude oneself. But why was Shiro overcome with such a foreign emotion as …_kinship_?

_Ah, fuck. Blue really has us both wrapped around his lil' finger, ain't tha' right, Ichigo?_

There could be heard a soft rumbling sound, a pleased purr only a satisfied kitten could make. It made Shiro's heart-beat accelerate in response. Then and there, he stopped caring about rationality and breaking morals that was committing a sin by fornicating with an enemy. And, don't get him wrong, Shiro loved Ichigo—not that the idiot would have ever noticed if it wasn't for the bastard of a demon spilling it out in the open—_but_, Grimmjow proved to be worthy of a title of another Enigma, ready to become cracked by the depraved albino.

World and shaman laws could go and fuck themselves, for all he cared. He had tongue down the throat of the second most desirable creature—after Ichigo. And _no way in hell_ was he backing out on the promise of sweet, tortuous and delirious in intensity pleasure the ocean-blue eyes of an Espada told.

Grimmjow's lips cut his train of thoughts off. Soft, firm and demanding against his own, always challenging and looking for weakness.

When the demon broke from the kiss, he turned his attention to Shiro's neck, holding him firmly and dragging the flat of his tongue from the nape up to the shaman's ear. He grinned Cheshire smile hearing the delicious moan and turned Shiro swiftly around.

The albino's back was plastered to Grimmjow's own; he could feel the demon's erection straining against the demon's white hakama. As he relaxed into the taut and lethal body behind him, Grimmjow's hand reached for the nape of his pale neck and Shiro saw how Grimjow's normal—human—hand turned suddenly into a cat-like appendage.

But there was nothing cute about it.

It was deadly and powerful.

Shiro swore he could see his own reflection at the edges of Grimmjow's claws. They were _that_ sharp. He didn't know what to anticipate, but whatever the demon wanted to do, he trusted him to make it feel good. Painful-good was also an option, not that Shiro would mind. But Grimmjow's claws only teased Shiro's skin. The albino obviously enjoyed the threat since he was deliciously shivering against Grimmjow, making the demon buckle and hump Shiro's perfect ass, while hissing approvingly.

He decided enough teasing was enough, though. And, they weren't alone in the room too. He ought to shift the attention to their neglected _Strawberry_ who had such a mean and pissed off look in his eyes, for forgetting about him, that Grimmjow almost felt bad about him.

_Almost_.

"Mm, our lil' Vixen must be tired from stayin' in this position fer so long. How about we help 'im make the circulation flow once again—to all of his neglected _members_?" Grimmjow laughed like a hyena.

It was beyond amusing to see the struggling hopelessly orangette. Always a smartass, and oh so tough. He couldn't get enough of those eyes—so rebellious, proud and fucking _annoying_. _Ah_, what he'd do to make Ichigo's resolve _break _and make him beg like a whore. The _image_ alone could last him as a lifetime of a jack off material. But as easy as it sounds, the little shit could put up a decent fight when he put his mind to it. It took Grimmjow quite some time to arrange the opportunity where he'd catch Ichigo off guard and use a spell on him. But see now? The rage in those amber eyes was so…. _achingly_… _**sweet**_.

It was worth all the trouble Grimmjow went through.

Definitely.

"I arranged it all exclusively fer ya, _Shi_. The thing ya want best is in yer reach now. Feel free to indulge," he drawled huskily. "I'll take my turn with ya later, _Whitey_. I can bet ya'll look _good_ with blood splattered across yer skin. _Mmm_, can't wait to fuck ya over. I'm not the patient kind, so don't take too long, _fucker_," he ended with narrowed eyes and a warning growl.

The demon released his hold over Shiro, stroking and caressing as much of the albino's body as he could while he stepped back.

He pulled out a nearby chair and sat comfortably in it. Legs wide, arms crossed and with never-leaving shit-eating grin on his face.

"Ya don't need ta tell me twice, _Puss_. Enjoy the fucking show; for it's the best yer demon's ass has ever seen." Shiro grinned and strolled to the trashing orangette.

Ichigo's reiatsu was sharp and angry, indicating the emotional state _the bound and helpless_ was in.

_Oh_, Shiro couldn't simply wait to put his mouth to the task at hand and change it.

Pun intended.

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><p>...<p>

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><p><strong>AN:** Ah, a tease is back with even more teasing, lol. But I realized this transition was _necessary_ to this story and I simply couldn't resist from putting some Grimm/Shiro time in here.

As I was writing it there was a bunch of things influencing me. Maybe I'll mention few; "Ultimate Survival" serial (don't ask, lol), Samurai Champloo expressive fighting style, a conversation with my University professor about the fairy tail at the beginning. I actually voiced my interpretation instead of his own, since he was convinced it's wolf that's the one perverted and _my_ perverted mind instantly turned it around, connecting it with Ichigo, lol.

Kind of shameless of me to throw a Daft Punk line there too, but I was feeling really giddy while listening to it and didn't want to write a long, drawn-out fight. And one more reason is a conversation with my Shirotori, aka **Toringtino**. I was beside myself from joy reading the Shiro/Grimm kiss in her _Unobtainable_ and we both mourned the fact there's not enough fics with them. It was the best scene with the two of them _ever_, doll. So I wanna spread the loveee, *blushies and giggles*

Tell me how I did, guys~:D

Apple.


	4. Lust, part A

**Chapter 4. Lust, part A.**

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><p><strong>...<strong>

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><p>Ichigo's body was wracked by the occasional shiver. His breath was deep and heavy, eyes glazed, face flushed and perspiration clearly visible, giving his sun-kissed body a delectable shine.<p>

Despite the obvious signs this was no simple fever.

He couldn't stop reacting that way when _that_ shivering from anticipation body was pressed flush against his own.

Trembling—_excited_—hands trailing delicate fingertips along his arms, quivering stomach, over the satiny of the bakudō and his defined by relentless training pectorals. Gripping and caressing from time to time, then touch turning rough, blunt nails leaving a visible path down Ichigo's sides, making his breath hitch and bit back a long groan. The redhead was shaking and scrambling for equilibrium, reaching with his toes to make a contact with the floor. He cherished briefly the cold, rough texture of the wood beneath him, until all of his senses focused on the albino who was looking at him in such peculiar way as if Ichigo was a very rare insect and Shiro was a very diligent bug collector. Well, the analogy was just plain gross, so he mentally shook his head to clear it. Ichigo's thinking process always went mile a minute when he was stressed or in a situation where he wasn't in control of.

He could feel burning heat from Shiro's deep breaths drifting across the side of his face, then his neck, and down the expanse of his chest as a warm forehead rested atop his shoulder. Shiro settled his hands on Ichigo's waist, circling with his thumbs along redhead's enticing hip bones and playing with the jeans' waistband. Ichigo gulped heavily and froze, expectant yet insecure what would be the albino's next move. The orangette felt an insane pressure in his chest and another in his pants. It was the blood-rush. Too much excitement too fast, he recognized. Just like before a sparring match, but this was worse—_way worse_. His face burned from how close and up personal Shiro was pressed up. The arousing show Shiro and Grimmjow put earlier wasn't helping with lowering his excitement. It was probably all Grimmjow's plan; to make Ichigo nearly dizzy with want he'd be even more placid and cooperative_. _

_As if the fucking over ninety spell wasn't fairing enough he just had to add some sort of psychological factor, annoying piece of shit,_ he thought angrily to himself, wishing he could get rid of the gag and spat in the demon's ugly mug.

His musings about ways how to make the demon pay were interrupted when Shiro's voice reached him, "Don' get distracted now, aibou. I know ya'd love ta play a lil' bit rough with our naughty Puss, but right now focus entirely on me an' my touch. I think I deserve it, Ichi." He said pinning Ichigo in place with his unique, unwavering gaze more efficiently than the annoying bakudō orangette's own reiatsu. Ichigo didn't break the eye contact, only narrowed his eyes and his scowl showed with furrow of orange brows—an acceptance, reluctant, but Shiro saw a definite green light. He grinned and proceeded with his lazy ministrations.

Something told the albino he should take his time and thoroughly explore his infatuation's sinful body. Was it because he felt left out? Or was it because he felt he lost too much time while he should have been banging his irresistible friend on daily basis and every available surface they could find; regularly now? Or because he felt extremely relieved and wanted to appreciate what unattainable before was in his reach now? Maybe it was a mix of all those things.

Finally, having everything fit into the place like pieces of puzzles it gave Shiro a foreign to him feeling of calm. His heart was at ease now. Although it was far from serene since it beat with excitement and happiness, but he no longer experienced the roller-coaster of ugly emotions that previously were his daily company when he still didn't know where he stood with the orangette. The jealousy and possessiveness were slowly eating him alive back then. There was a limit to being playful and joking trying to get rise out of the redhead when he knew the other saw it only as Shiro being well, _Shiro. _He really meant each and every word when he was hitting on his friend. Ichigo just didn't know that, or chose to ignore the obvious signs. Now he knew the fiery orangette was oblivious to the point it was worrying. Shiro mentally sighed exasperated and made a mental note to teach Ichigo how to be more aware, because damn, the albino was literally throwing innuendos at the redhead as if they were car sized rocks and Ichigo dodged every as if it was walk in the park, the little fucker.

That's why he wouldn't rush what he wanted to do. He no longer felt desperate to make some progress, now he could simply… _savour it._

At last, he was allowed to.

"Do ya have _any _idea how many times I fantasized when will I finally have ya all hard an' willin', Ichi?" He purred. "...God, I think I lost count 'round a few hundred an' it was good three years ago," the albino chuckled at Ichigo's widening of irises from surprise. "Hard ta believe? Tsk, tsk, Ichi. Every single time I had an arm 'round ya, or suddenly hugged yer neck from behind ta see what ya were studyin' I was thinkin' how fuckin' good yer body feels, how near impossibly compatible we are, an' yer scent… _oh heavens, _yer _scent,_ it was nearly _killing me_ I couldn't bend down an' lick ya all over till ya go numb from pleasure." Shiro closed his eyes in a half-bliss half-pain while remembering those moments.

The albino paused and locked his eyes with Ichigo once again, thankful for the gag Ichigo had, since he could say whatever he wanted and knew the redhead had no choice but to listen. "You drive me _nuts_, ya lil' tease. In best an' worst kind a'ways. I never get tired arguin' wit'chu, never stop gettin' a fuckin' hard on when ya get tha' pissed off an' homicidal look in yer eyes after I've done some prank on ya. _Oh fuck_… every single time when it happened I thought how fuckin' _good_ it would feel ta have ya jump my bones an' mount me like an angry animal ya really are on th' inside. But ya are afraid ta let loose. I know ya well, _partner_." Shiro gripped Ichigo's jaw with his right hand, pinning him with his focused gaze.

"Yer like an open book ta me, most of the time. It's annoyin' but also ...fascinating. Tha' with minimal effort I can guess in what mood ya are, what made ya go all happy or nearly ballistic from anger. _Ah—"_ he grinned suddenly, "th' times I jerked off ta you while ya slept peacefully in th' same room, tired after all day of intense trainin' an' school. I still can't fuckin' believe ya've never caught me on th' act." Shiro laughed at Ichigo's incredulous and disgusted look. "How many times I slept over now? Damn, but I don' think I can count high enough. 'M practically livin' here, half of my shit at yer place so I wouldn't need anythin' when crashin' at this place." He had the nerve to wink.

"Oh, before I forget—I'm thinkin' now of movin' in, Ichi. If for th' fact, tha' ya took a wicked pet an' need help wit' trainin' him properly. Ya wouldn't want 'im ta piss all over yer furniture, ey?" the annoyed growl from nearby made him snicker. "Keepin' a pet at th' apartment is a heavy responsibility. Let me share it. He seems fun. Ya know I've always wanted ta get my hands on a lil' tiger cub, but this beast seems like th' best freakin' Christmas gift _ever,_" he licked his lips while casting a hungry look at Grimmjow, who was no longer annoyed but wore a smirk now.

"_Mnnh_—I've always been a sucker for lil' furry things wit' tails, y'know." He said breathlessly, getting lost in the, cold as ice and blue as an ocean, eyes of the most dangerous creature in their realm.

An ultimate predator.

Shiro could barely stop himself from shivering and having his eyes flutter in bliss. He got lost in his thoughts for a moment—_I've always loved ta play with fire, th' reek of danger it supplied was like th' best fuckin' high. I guess th' Puss is th' embodiment of every damn thing I've ever wanted ta tame, to **possess**, but was limited because of my nature—being a human, though extraordinary, but I always wanted ta reach even __**higher;**__ not satisfied wit' my current strength. Wit' him here I, no better yet__**—**__together wit' Ichigo—**we** could get stronger. _

_**Much** stronger._

He was brought back to the present, by a sharp intake of breath. Shiro was instantly released from the different kind of 'spell' he was under when looking in the eyes of death itself. Sexy personification of death, but not less merciful. The albino shifted his focus to the bound orangette. Seeing discomfort in the way Ichigo's brows pulled, he realized he was squeezing his soon-to-be lover's jaw a little bit too hard. Instantly, he eased up the hold and kissed the places the albino's pale fingers nearly bruised.

Grimmjow was a real distraction, but Shiro couldn't just forget about him sitting there and watching hungrily every move he made. It was exciting, short of arousing, yet some part of albino's mind kept the awareness because of another reason. Meaning—one predator never completely turned his back on another. It was a matter of principles. A survival instinct, you could almost call it. And Shiro relied on his instincts just as much as any of your typical carnivorous beasts.

With that in mind he decided to put good enough show, for the dangerous pussycat, to make the demon forget about everything but what naughty things Shiro was doing.

Goose bumps rose on every inch of Ichigo's skin, as pale, calloused fingers trailed a path from the redhead's jaw, then neck, collarbone, going down and down, stroking sensitive flesh of his stomach, till they reached a distinctive orange happy trail.

He wasn't given even a second to proceed what was going to happen next, when there was a sound of a zipper being lowered. A pale, skilled hand dove instantly, passing the layers of jeans and gray boxer briefs by Tommy Hilfiger, Shiro recognized as one of the Christmas gifts Ichigo received from pragmatic Yuzu. Shiro chuckled to himself as he wiggled fingers to reach lower and cup the redhead's sensitive balls. The albino loved how mother-like was the youngest from the Kurosaki household, she even gave Shiro few practical gifts, like hand-made scarf and gloves Shiro was in love with. The sweet angel really had a knack for coming up with creative stuff, and Shiro being treated practically as a part of the family, he showered the girls with just as much affection and sent them interesting presents whenever he went abroad and came across something cool for Karin and multipurpose for Yuzu.

While Shiro's thoughts turned into less perverted direction, Ichigo was doing a battle with his highly responsive body. And, he was loosing miserably too. With increased blood flow there was a desperate heat between his legs and his heart thundered inside his ribcage as if it turned into a bird that wanted to escape the confiding him prison. His breathing turned short and labored, anticipating tremors passed through his tights' muscles, and the silky blue cloth used as a gag was no longer able to muffle the pathetic little whines and groans coming from the very depths of his throat. The orangette's cheeks flushed in embarrassment and annoyance how fast his body gave up and surrendered to the touch of his crush's hands. The times he imagined how it would feel to have Shiro caress him in such sinful ways were now getting back on the redhead. Undoing him swiftly and completely. It was the most vulnerable he felt since exchanging his memories with Grimmjow. But he couldn't deny he liked this particular feeling of helplessness.

Ichigo gave a full-body shudder as Shiro's long fingers stopped teasing, or more like fucking torturing him, and curled firmly around the shaft of his hot and throbbing cock. And… _squeezed_.

_Ohfuckfuckfuck—Holy…shiit!—_

No amount of muffled growling and swearing, or even jerking against the keeping him in place bakudō, made Shiro speed up his attention to Ichigo's neglected member, heavy from arousal. He demanded more and_—_ _fucking harder, you little prick_ _—_with impatient roll of hips, but each time Shiro or slackened his hold on his dick or more firmly steadied Ichigo's movements with his other hand that was still on the redhead's hip.

Ichigo panted heavily. It was too much. The redhead's senses were overloaded with outlash of different sensations, but not where he desperately craved it. With every dance of those pale fingers over his heavily pulsing cock it made his skin burn hotter all over. Ichigo thrashed his head back and forth. He needed something. Something more touchable. A relief and an escape, but Shiro gave neither. Not without having his full in teasing and taunting the redhead, first.

"Yer _so_ cute. An', surprisingly quite _easy_ too." The albino chuckled. "Or is it because it's lil' ol' _me_ who is touchin' ya? Aww, I feel _flattered_, Ichi!" He winked, words dripping with amusement, mixed with something similar to a triumph. Shiro couldn't help but enjoy every second of the torment he dished out. He snickered and flicked a wet tongue over orangette's ear. He released Ichigo's hip and watched as the redhead, guided by instinct, immediately started fucking the albino's pale hand.

"_Mmmhnnph!—_" or_ "Shut up!"_ Ichigo growled through clenched over the gag teeth, not opening his eyes or making any attempt to still the rolling of his hips.

It felt too good to stop.

Shiro pressed with his half-naked body harder to the redhead, as he rubbed Ichigo from root to tip. Long, slow, the nimble fingers from lax, and frustrating turned into almost vice-like, then easing to the one of a tight glove complementing a hand.

_"Oh, mother of—..."_ Ichigo groaned internally, eyes practically rolling back in his head, fingers trying to grip something—_anything_—but coming out empty, frustrated. It was good. Perfect pressure, nearly perfect grip. Long, slow, firm strokes, the way he liked it best. He shuddered and gasped through clenched teeth over the gag. Eyes pressed shut, head bent forward, hips pulsing in steady time with the strokes.

"_Nnnnh_—damn Ichi—you look good enough to **_eat_**." He ran the blue-inked tongue over his teeth. He chuckled as Ichigo's eyes fluttered open and glared into his own introverted ones, half-heartedly.

The albino knew he had him good. He chuckled when his mind compared Ichigo to a helpless fly trapped in the spider's web. The more it trashed, the more it got tangled in the sticky network of spider's threads. Until it got tired enough and there was barely any resistance from the prey.

Shiro decided to up the ante.

"Naa, tell me Ichi. Has the Puss ever sucked ya off?" He whispered seductively into redhead's ear, while giving Ichigo's cock a harsh pump.

A violent shudder and a wail similar to that of a dying animal answered him. Shiro's eyes glowed as he cast a look to the side and saw Grimmjow swallow with difficulty and the demon's hand travelled inside the white hakama. Espada's eyes were glued to the arousing sight before him, hand not stopping; moving up and down over his swollen prick. Shiro's tongue came out to moisture his lower lip as his gold irises drank hungrily in the erotic display. A patch of blue hair was revealed to Shiro's eyes and the albino could swear he saw Grimmjow's cock head peeking with each upward twist of the demon's wrist.

He licked his lip as he managed to catch Grimmjow's attention. Shiro held it for few seconds and smirked evilly.

"Guess, I'll do th' honors an' show ya Blue how ta properly please our mate. Ya ready, Ichi-_darlin'_?" He sent a roguish grin in Grimmjow's direction—a challenge. Grimmjow's eyes flashed for a second in anger, but, just as fast, it turned into one of total anticipation and want. The demon didn't stop stroking himself as he observed how Shirosaki knelt in front of the flustered and panting redhead. He gave a barely noticeable smirk with the left corner of his mouth and growled through his bared teeth, "Make 'im fuckin' _scream_."

"Tch, no need ta order me around." The albino scoffed. "_Was 'bout to_." He drawled the last sentence, while locking his eyes with Ichigo and holding it for a moment. The impatient growl from the demon gave him the sign to stop stalling and go for the kill.

Oh kill he did if Ichigo's wail was any indication.

The orangette's arms strained against the bonds. Fingers itching to grab the snow white hair and push his cock deeper. Shiro's skilled tongue swirled around his mushroom head, nearly scorching hot and so deliciously _wet_, Ichigo thought he would loose his mind. Or pass out, that was also a valid option.

Shiro swung one of Ichigo's legs over his shoulder so he could proceeded to take Ichigo's prick deeper into his mouth next. He released the redhead's member for a moment, leaning forward again and the albino kissed the skin where thigh and hip met. The pale shaman bid down_—hard—_at the skin, making Ichigo curl his upper body forward.

_"Mmhhnn—**ohyeah**, fucking violent."_ Ichigo moaned internally.

"_Oh,_ ya like that?" Shiro's eyes twinkled mischievously and returned to the place where his teeth sunk.

He lapped at the bite and when the sucking started the redhead felt his eyes roll into his head as a wave of warmth and pleasure seemed to shoot through his body, as he was stroked and sucked. The orangette nearly choked, throat tightening with the need for air and the need to voice his pleasure.

_Fucking Shiro and his irresistible mouth._

_"Hnnnnph!"_

Ichigo curled forward. Teeth clenched tightly—bared as if he was imitating an angry animal. Body no longer shaking, but trembling. Air rasping in his lungs as he struggled to keep his hips still. He knew it was a pointless effort, but now it was simply a matter of pride. To hold back. To fucking _resist,_ even a second longer, from shoving forward with force and violence—_just like his strung up body craved_—and enjoying the exquisite feeling of his cock being squeezed by spasming muscles of his friend's throat.

A hand groped for and found his hip. It was Shiro's fingers flexing on his tanned, sweaty skin. Hot and strong as they urged him forward—_deeper_. Until the head of his cock was striking the back of Shiro's throat. Ichigo was immensely thankful to Grimmjow—_for once_—for the gag—the silky piece of cloth he was able to sink his teeth into. He bit into it with vicious passion. If it wasn't for it, probably all of the people living around the block would be able to hear just _how_ _damn good_ Ichigo was being pleasured. He was brought back from the nirvana, he felt close to reaching, eyes focused once more the moment he heard a sharp gagging sound. It made him freeze for a second. Only the tip of his head inside Shiro's moist and silky heaven his lips were. To let the albino catch his breath, control the reflex, and once again to let him resume the sweet torture.

_Deep breaths, deep fucking breaths, and think of dead puppies, Ichigo_—the mantra was going on repeat through the redhead's head. He would _not_ give in so damn easily. Even if his legs were just short of buckling under him. Even if he was tied up, hopeless and vulnerable like a beheaded chicken on some market. Even if he _did_ fucking love every second of it. But the fire of defiance was still burning brightly in the depths of his amber colored irises. Daring the albino to give his best. Because he was Ichigo fucking Kurosaki and he could absolutely fucking take everything his secret crush, up until now, could dish out.

It was the only thing he could do. The only fucking thing.

Ichigo prided himself in iron self-control. Shiro knew, since he watched him train many times to the point the other was nearly passing out from exhaustion. But he would have none of it. He would fucking _break_ and _shatter_ any resemblances of calm and composed Ichigo tried to maintain. It was pissing him off, how he wasn't able to see through Ichigo before. How he didn't recognize the obvious signs. That Ichigo craved Shiro just as much as the older shaman, and that every waking hour he spend on fantasizing about what interesting things they could do together without moving out of the bed.

He would have laughed at Ichigo's futile battle with his own body and instincts if he wasn't preoccupied with sucking the redhead's cock down his throat that even a skilled whore would burn from jealousy at the show of skills. Shiro wanted to make it _the_ best head the redhead had ever received in his entire life, and for that he needed to refresh his rusty skills. Shiro wasn't a natural born cock sucker, despite how eagerly he was gulping down Ichigo's shaft. He had people fighting over who can have the honor of sucking _him _off, not the other way around.

_But._

For the lovely, sinfully delectable redhead, and to see Ichigo's indifferent façade finally _crack_, he could even bend his morals and eat out Ichigo's pretty asshole. And something told him he'd enjoy it as much as his hot-blooded friend.

_If it isn't th' ultimate show of care an' love, then I don't fuckin' know what it is._

He flattened his left hand, slid it up and around the younger male's quivering tight to grab on one of Ichigo's irresistible ass cheeks. His right one was busy stroking the base of Ichigo's shaft, he couldn't cover alone with his mouth. Shiro breathed deeply in through his nose. Then proceeded to swallow, suck and lick at the flaring cock-head and swollen prick that was hard enough it could pound nails. With each passing moment he got more and more comfortable with it, urging the redhead deeper. Throat relaxing, head tipping back as he slid the heavy cock even further downwards until his chin finally struck the crotch of Ichigo's half undone pants.

_"Ugghhhnn—mmmmhhhn~"_

Ichigo couldn't take it anymore.

His focus swam.

Brain turned to mush.

And the sounds he was able to make were only needy wails for more, harder, faster—_and better fucking **now**. _Thank god for the gag mouth or he wouldn't be able to live with himself if he was heard _begging_.

He jerked himself forward, to better the angle, bracing himself on the binds that were holding him up, ass cheeks clenching rhythmically under Shiro's fingers. The albino eased his felt hand earlier from stroking the base of Ichigo's erection and guided it to the taut perfection of younger man's ass. He squeezed and massaged the hard globes, pushing down on them, creating a steady thrusting pace.

Ichigo's half-lidded gaze riveted, absentmindedly, on the sight of his flaming red cock. Sliding slow and sure between the albino's reddened from friction, glistening lips. His amber eyes were greedily devouring the sight of tears trickling from the pale shaman's closed eyes, down his temples, and into snow-hued hair. Because of the obstruction of throat and breath caused by Ichigo's cock.

_My cock. Filling up Shiro's foul mouth. Oh, oh god—**sweet fucking heaven** more like—this is so bloody arousing—_

_"Mmmgghh~"_

Ichigo could feel he was getting close to the edge. He vaguely sensed how well Shiro was in tune with the redhead's own body since suddenly there was even_ more_ tongue swirling around, more pressure from throat, mouth and lips. Making Ichigo's body tremble uncontrollably, whine and groan deep inside his throat without hesitation now.

Loud, low, and half-muffled by the gag. The sounds almost making his whole body shake.

He could practically_ hear_ the metaphorical snap of his restrains.

The need to come clawed at his belly, clenching his guts, like an unstoppable avalanche. The sensation peaked in his balls, making the muscles in his thighs, ass and stomach clench tightly and then his body jerked forward sharply. Putting a strain even on the high level of bakudō, that was holding him in place. He released a chocked scream and nearly blacked out as he came harder than he had ever had in his life. The orgasm was wrenched out of him by dexterous fingers and wicked mouth that drained him of fluid—and probably even brain cells—in one gloriously mind numbing _blow_.

Shiro's mouth curled smugly as he swallowed Ichigo whole, until his nose nestled into redhead's pubic hair. His forearm muscles strained while trying to keep the redhead's hips steady so that their night wouldn't end all too soon and awkward. He felt like giving himself a proud pat on the back as he gulped down Ichigo's essence down his throat.

Like a fucking pro.

Lust and amusement hid beneath Shiro's sagging lids as he slowly removed his mouth from Ichigo's sex.

He licked his lips slowly, deliberately running his tongue all the way around his now swollen mouth, catching every bit of Ichigo's come he missed. Every move being carefully watched by the redhead. In spite of how detached Ichigo felt, still experiencing aftershocks from the overwhelming orgasm.

Also, by hearing the loud pleased purring, Shiro knew Grimmjow enjoyed it too.

"Mmm, de-_fuckin'_-licious, Ichi. I could definitely get used to this. Particularly, since I could watch ya crumblin' at my hands. At my_ mercy_. The look ya have right now on yer face I can sum up in one word—**_gorgeous_**."

Ichigo could only pant, trying to catch his breath and try to gather his wits. He could _swear_ Shiro sucked out of him half of his soul in the process.

Shiro stood up and trailed with his finger over Ichigo's damp, left temple.

"Have ya enjoyed yerself?" He purred. Seeing how Ichigo scoffed, and how light of defiance once again returned to shine brightly in his the depths of his amber eyes, he grinned like a true sadist he was. "Well then, I can't disappoint here, can I? I hope yer ready fer round two, love, 'cause my dick is ready to fuck ya hard enough ya'd be ruined fer any other man, but me," once again there was an annoyed growl, followed by threatening "Oi." Shiro relented, "Fine, Ichi-darlin' will be ruined for any other man, except me and one pms-ing Puss, tha' alright?"

"Don't push yer luck, bitch." Grimmjow frowned. Shiro only rolled his eyes. Looks like the Pussycat got annoyed over practically anything. Maybe it was in his nature to be disagreeable and a fucking moody feline, but Shiro could give as much as he received. He only needed to figure out Grimmjow's weakness and he'd have this pussy on his knees before him giving the demon nice throat fucking he surely deserved. Shiro found Grimmjow's possessive nature over Ichigo cute, though, so he'd forgive him for now and focus on satisfying his own burning need, while screwing living daylights out of his new sexy lover now.

He knew where Ichigo kept naughty things like lube, for his personal use, so he strolled to the dresser and fished out a half-used tube. Smirking, he came back to his prey. Shiro pulled Ichigo's and his own clothes off, discarding them somewhere on the floor. He came behind the orangette, letting his hard prick nestle on Ichigo's small back, allowing his friend and lover now feel the thing that was about to send him off into different, pleasurable dimension. The albino nuzzled his nose in Ichigo's hair, inhaling deeply the mint-scented shampoo and said, "Ya know how many times I thought I'd like ta fuck yer sweet ass?" Shiro inquired. Ichigo made a stifled noise of pain and anger as the albino fondled his cock till it stood erect once again.

"Now I've got plenty of time ta play with ya. Hey, Pussycat will even let me have _hours_ with ya if I ask nice. Won't ya, …_Espada_?"

"Mmm, depends on how _nice _ya ask me, Shaman," Grimmjow smirked pleased Shiro did his homework. Espada were thought to be an extinct kind, just like dinosaurs were for humans, but it didn't mean shamans couldn't recognize a rare kind, like Grimmjow. "But fine, I can take the rain check; take all the time ya like with Vixen here. After all, it's not the broken slave that's interesting, but the _breaking_." Grimmjow purred evilly. The plan for the next few hours already long ago formed inside of his corrupted mind. Shiro needed to be baptized, right? If it had to be done through Ichigo's 'sacrifice' first, the redhead could deal with it himself, Ichigo agreed.

He locked his eyes with orangette briefly.

Ichigo's heart rate shoots up.

_Oh, you motherfuc— _

Ichigo glared, flipping the demon man off, despite how awkwardly in the back were his arms twisted.

Grimmjow's grin widened. "Ya know, I'm always up fer that offer, Vixen."

Ichigo scowled, but Grimmjow smirked at the sight of the blush staining the redhead's cheeks. _"Ya would like to have a go at my ass, wouldn't ya, you lil' bitch."_ Grimmjow thought to himself amused.

Shiro unaware of the prior plans the duo before him had made, he nodded to Grimmjow's 'permission'_—_even if he didn't need to ask for any, but he wanted to assure the demon won't interfere for now. Grimmjow had a whole fucking week to have fun with Ichigo and Shiro was starved for years to have a taste this piece of sun-kissed ass for himself. He unclapped the lube and poured a generous amount on his fingers, then he proceeded to work a slick finger up inside Ichigo's ass, then another one after the redhead relaxed enough for Shiro to speed up the preparations. He didn't want to hurt his gorgeous infatuation, but he was at his very limits and the albino was sure with all the fucking Ichigo did with the lucky fucker of a demon, the pale shaman knew Ichigo would get accustomed to the foreign intrusion soon enough.

"Oh fuck yeah. My dick is practically singin' praises at th' feel of those silky insides of yers, love. Just one more finger an' I'll show ya what ya've been missing out on while playin' hard ta get, lil' dipshit. Ya almost gave me an ulcer from all th' worry I've been through, Ichi. So I'm looking forward ta watchin' ya snap from ecstasy. Inch by inch. I'll be sure ta take my time an' wit' each day I'll make ya beg a bit more, a lil' bit louder, a lil' bit more _desperate_ as if ya can't live a day without havin' yer insides being pummeled by my long an' deliciously hard _cock_."

Ichigo felt like he was loosing his mind._ God,_ he knew Shiro was one big pervert, but knowing and _experiencing_ was a big fucking difference. He didn't even dare to look at Grimmjow, knowing the horny fucker would be wearing an ear shitting grin and spur the albino on some more with the look of desire in those frozen eyes, ready to spill over any minute. Ichigo also felt like his cheeks won't ever stop being that of a red flaming color. Be it from the dirty talk, embarrassment of how vocal it made him or how goddamn _amazing_ Shiro's fingers felt while fucking him up the ass, he couldn't tell.

_Aww, shit,_ he was really stupid he didn't realize the sincerity of Shiro's advances through all the time they've been together as friends. If the albino's_—three now_—__fingers felt this _good_ then Ichigo honestly feared whether he'd be able to stay conscious.

He could fucking _pray_, since if he did pass out there was no telling what would pissed off an unsatisfied Grimmjow do to him next. Fuck his exhausted ass or near corpse? Very realistic scenario.

His hands tightened on Ichigo's buttocks and spreading them further. "I'll make ya _addicted_ to my cock. Brace yerself because ya've never met such a sex machine as me, Ichi. I'm gonna give it to ya, till ya can't help but want it, beg and yearn fer it. And most important__—ya'll truly love every second of it.__ My sexy slut." He punctuated it with a swift slap to Ichigo's right ass cheek, making the redhead yelp.

_Fuckinghell_—no way my body enjoyed it! __Ichigo mentally shook himself, but the state of his dick told him otherwise, speaking tales about how much of a masochist he was. Shiro no longer was touching it, yet it hung heavily between his spread legs, sperm oozing from the tip as if he had a fucking leak there.

Another slap brought him back to reality and he whined low in his throat when the pain from sting of the slap went straight to his groin. If Shiro was going to do this again he swore he would cum.

The golden-eyed shaman paused, as if waiting for an confirmation, cocking his head to one side, that eternal grin filling Ichigo's vision and he braced himself. "Naa Ichi, say do ya want me?" It was a 180 turn from a total dirty talker with an insane grin on his face, to a innocent little pup who honestly waned to know whether his owner loved him.

Just as soon as Shiro loosened up the gag, soaked in Ichigo's spit, the redhead spat, "Bloody hell, you need a written invitation or something, you dipshit?"

"Nah, but I would really love it if I heard it being said from yer own mouth. I'm no rapist."

Ichigo scowled. The nerve of the fucker. He already had his way with Ichigo and now he fucking went all gentlemanly and asked for permission? Fuck this shit. But the orangette also knew how Shiro operated, how selfish he was and how Ichigo always caved to his wishes in the end. He seriously was in love with the sadistic fuck if he forgave him every little thing he did. He sighed internally and began, breathlessly, because god but this foreplay was turning out to be too damn _long_, "Fuck me with all you've got in you. Make me scream, _Shirosaki._"

"Oh, you kinky_ bastard_. Ask, and Ye Shall Receive."

* * *

><p>...<p>

* * *

><p>Grimmjow righted the chair and leaned back in it smugly, like a cat that got the cream.<p>

Ichigo stared at him.

The demon stared back, smirk on his face miles wide.

Silence enveloped the room. It was interrupted only by heavy and irregular breathing of the two males, relishing in the afterglow of some fucking epic sex, ladies and gentlemen.

Then—Grimmjow laughed. It sounded like a mix between hyena's cackle and cat spitting fur balls, but Ichigo deducted, it was Grimmjow's unique, or plain fucked up, way of laughing. As his chuckles and sniggers died down, he spoke.

"What the fuck is wrong with you humans?" He stood up, stretched his limbs and continued to pace around his Contractor and the albino.

"Ya see now, Whitey? It was obvious one day he was going to find out yer in love with him. Ya were just being a pussy and stalling. For, fucking, _what_? I ask. Ya don't wait fer good opportunities to come knocking on yer door, but ya fuckin' go and take what ya want. Don't ya ever act like some stinkin' _prey_, **brat**." He pinned Shiro with his glare, then he turned to Ichigo.

"And you. Ya know you can't hide _shit_ from me, so ease up with giving me an evil eye, Vixen. I know you're fuckin' ecstatic after having him banging ya hard and rough. Just how ya dreamed about—_dozens of times_—ya horny shaman. I bet ya feel relieved now. So even if it wasn't entirely a part of the deal, ya can treat it as a special discount, bitch." Grimmjow laughed at Ichigo's evil look being shot his way.

"What deal are ya talkin' 'bout?" Shiro asked confused while standing up. Ichigo was still held by the spell and only Grimmjow could release it.

Grimmjow's eyes turned all excited in a matter of milliseconds, "Wanna know? Ya _really_ wanna know? Because there would be no turnin' back fer ya."

"What... Yes, I fuckin' wanna know. Ya creep me out with the starin' so fuss up what th' hell do ya mean." Shiro growled. He could feel something was not right with the picture here. How with a flick of demon's finger's the spell disappeared and Ichigo suddenly was standing few good meters away from the albino who had now a face full of Grimmjow's insane grin.

"Instead of sayin' why don't we show ya, _Shi~ro_." Grimmjow purred while advancing on the albino and before the other realized what he wanted to do; Grimmjow kicked him in the stomach with enough force to send him sprawling across the room and onto the wall above the bed that belonged to Ichigo.

Shiro felt air escaping from his lungs as his back met with the wall. He fell on top of the bed and started coughing trying to catch his breath and make his lungs work again which due to the shock they received it wasn't an easy task.

"You're a fucking dick, you know that?" Ichigo said as if he was commenting on the weather.

"And you love this fucking dick, babe."

"Screw you."

"Hey, I offered, but first ya have to stick to the end of yer deal, Vixen."

Ichigo knew he wouldn't win arguing with the demon's twisted logic so wanting to wipe the smug look from Grimmjow's handsome face he opted for another way than doing it with his fist.

Ichigo refreshed his knowledge that kissing the sky blue haired demon was his favorite way of shutting the bastard up.

"…_Mmnnn_—damn, but yer one _hell_ of a kisser, Ichi." Grimmjow groaned after Ichigo let him up so they could replace the oxygen in their lungs. He saw how the demon's cheeks were tingled pink and he couldn't help but chuckle at the adorable sight. All he needed to do was to shift his reiatsu and let it caress the ridiculously strong demon and he was like putty at his hands. He knew he was a good kisser, he scoffed internally, but the redhead also knew a very valuable piece of information. A demon's weakness. If only Shiro paused and really _looked_ at Grimmjw whenever their reiatsu clashed he would realize soon enough how to turn the fight in his favor. Well, he couldn't blame the pale man, though. Ichigo also needed some time to figure this out, but after realizing this crucial fact he made Grimmjow_ really_ work for getting to top Ichigo.

Ichigo shook his head. To think that demon's source of food that is reishi, in such a concentrated state coming from Ichigo's body would be such a strong aphrodisiac to the Espada was surprising, but also hilarious. The first time it had happened Ichigo took full advantage of the fact.

_Full_.

Seeing the orangette with his usual cocky smirk, Grimmjow realized he was played at his own game and growled flushing adorably pink once again, "Get to work, bitch. Restrain 'im before he starts puttin' up the fight. Night's still young, as ya humans say. It would be a damn shame not to show our lil' albino what he misses out on, yeah?"

Ichigo glanced at his bed, seeing already recovering albino he strode to him while saying over his shoulder, "You're right. And our lil' pale friends here needs to learn few home truths too. I'll be sure to help you teach him fucking well."

Grimmjow grinned. There was nothing as sexy as pissed off Ichigo. Grimmjow knew he wasn't off of the hook for locking him in the spell, but right now, Ichigo's attention was wholly focused on Shirosaki.

And it was fine by him.

The struggle was short and vicious. He held on harshly until the other finally subsided, hissing angrily over how far Ichigo had shoved his arm up his back.

_Fucker, he better not break it, _Shiro groaned to himself.

Ichigo smirked, satisfied. Considering raw muscle power they were equal or maybe Ichigo was slightly better, though they never fought all out to find out. He did receive new bruises—a show it wasn't an easy victory, of course. But it was the pale shaman who was stuck, sucking in air and gasping as if he'd been drowning.

Damn him if the way Shirosaki couldn't catch his breath wasn't downright _sexy_.

"Sh—_shit_," Shiro panted through gritted teeth. He straightened up as much as Ichigo would allow, then smiled. But the way his lips pulled back from his teeth was more a gruesome parody than a smile. Kind of frightening, even, in a way, Grimmjow supposed.

"Let me the fuck _go_!" Eyes flashing, lips spitting fire and venom. More like the Shiro Ichigo knew when the other felt cornered; skilled, dangerous, deranged. The lean body twisted like an eel in his arms. Ichigo smiled as he felt the adrenaline coursing through his veins as he had to work to keep the albino captive. Midst the shuffle he changed his hold on the albino with hands restrained above the pale shaman's head with Ichigo's own, in a twisted form of an embrace. Shiro was half-laying over Ichigo's front, half-sitting and trying to wiggle from the hold. Something in the way the demon walked to where they sat made Shirosaki's alarm bells go off.

Grimmjow's gaze narrowed dangerously at the albino's confused and dubious expression and felt his sneer start to edge toward a snarl. He released part of his reiatsu, allowing his feline features to be half-liberated state. Making his claws appear, along with pointed blue-green cat ears and a graceful yet lethal tail.

Shiro's pulse leaped as Grimmjow crashed onto the bed and proceeded to scrap excitedly with his sharp canines along the albino's jawbone.

"_Fuckin'_ _Pussyca_—" Shiro gasped even as Grimmjow lurched up and covered his mouth.

He probed deep and hard, pleased when Shiro probed back just as firm. Their tongues tangled, slick, wild, stabbing. Neither was willing to give way.

Grimmjow's hand painfully fisted itself in the snow white tresses of the albino's hair. Pushing them closer. He gulped down the answering low groans as if it was water.

"Next time yer ass is mine," Shiro breathed after they released the lip lock.

He laughed, low in the others ear before he bit down on the pale lobe making it bleed. Locking eyes over Shiro's shoulder with the kinky Vixen, he said. "We'll see."

* * *

><p>...<p>

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><p><strong>AN:** Oh my god. I think I pulled a muscle with this one! But it was **so** worth it, wasn't it? I'm really sorry for not writing more to Ichi/Shiro sexing up. Believe me I was gonna make it as dirty and utterly hot, so that you'd drown in nosebleed from all of the sexiness, but I missed an important meeting so I could finish writing this chapter, just so I could get the idea out of my head finally, and I'm behind a lot of things now. Nothing to worry about since I'm used to the high pressure, lol. Anyway, writing them it's damn addictive and all kinds of fun. Those three sexy bastards are simply too damn easy to write, *chuckles*

I was overwhelmed by your response guys. I mean the amount of fave/alets made me blush so thankies~! It also confused me greatly because only one person commented on my previous chapter. And, I really tried hard on putting as much awesome I could there, *pouts* I don't think it was bad since ya liked it enough to follow it, yeah? It made me question my skills whether maybe I did something wrong, so I would really appreciate any comments about this one, 'kay?

PS. If ya want some tail-prOn next time then ya better try to make this Apple happy!~ *wiggles*


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